Eyes Like Fire, Hair Like Rain
by RoyalHeather
Summary: It's been forty years since Nasuada's death, and Murtagh's happy. He's the head of the school for all the new Riders. But thanks to the newest Rider, Murtagh's life is about to change in a way he'd long stopped thinking it would. Murtagh/OC romance. Best read after "This Day Will Soon Be At An End."
1. The Hatching

Eyes on his reflection in the mirror, Murtagh ran the wet comb through his hair, forcing the tangled brown strands to form some semblance of order. Normally he would just pull his hair back in a ponytail and call it done, but today was one of the few days it was worth putting the extra effort into his appearance.

_What's taking you so long?_ Thorn appeared over his shoulder. _It's almost time._

_ Yeah, yeah, just give me a few more seconds. _Murtagh tugged on the comb until his hair fell to his shoulders tangle-free and relatively smooth.

_Aren't you done yet? _Thorn's tail twitched like a hunting cat's. _Seriously, you're taking _forever.

_Like you didn't spend all morning preening. _Murtagh smoothed his hair down one final time before turning away from the mirror and grabbing his jacket – leather, dyed the deep dark red of Thorn's scales in shadow. _All right, let's go. _

Side by side, they walked out of their shared hall and onto the sunlit ledge. It was a beautiful day, especially for late autumn – the sun was shining, there was only a hint of wind, and the sea stretched out far into the distance, perfect and blue. A perfect day for a Hatching.

Thorn knelt so Murtagh could climb onto his back. The second Thorn took off, wind rushed through Murtagh's hair, undoing all his hard work. Thorn snickered. _It's a good thing you put so much effort into it. _

_ Oh, shut up. _Murtagh drummed a heel into Thorn's neck, though he doubted Thorn even felt it.

They swung around the complex of buildings in a wide arc. Murtagh was genuinely fond of the Academy – goodness knew enough of his and Thorn's sweat and blood had gone into building it – but more than that, it was … it was _home._ For both of them.

People were already gathered in the amphitheater, the light glinting off of dragon scales. Murtagh saw Ampora, and Tagen, and Bedella and Sonorm and Jin, which meant…

_Where's Katya and Narada? _

Thorn snorted. _Where do you think? _

Murtagh sighed, shook his head. _I swear, that dragon was late to her own Hatching._

Thorn landed on their ledge on the side of the amphitheater. Ampora was already perched there, his neck arched so the sunlight caught his glittering crest of spikes. Torrens, lounging on his foreleg, waved and grinned at Murtagh as he dismounted. "Hey, boss!"

"Hey." Murtagh strode over to Torrens, who jumped up and clasped his forearm. "Excited?"

"Are you kidding? This is my favorite day of the year."

Murtagh laughed, cuffed him on the back. "That's the spirit."

The other dragons and Riders were gathered on the other side of the amphitheater. They saluted him, grinning, and he returned the gesture. "I see everyone's here."

"All except Katya."

"Yeah, where _is _she? Thorn still won't talk to Narada."

She _won't talk to _me.

Torrens chuckled. "They're flying here. Should be landing any minute."

"Good." Murtagh scanned the gathered families seated on the amphitheater steps. "Well, it looks like a promising crowd."

"Mm-hm. There are some good kids down there."

"How many are there?"

_Twenty-two, total. Youngest is seven, oldest is eighteen. Seventeen repeats, _said Thorn.

"Really? Who are the new ones?"

Thorn showed Murtagh mentally. Four boys, one girl, all of them promising choices. "Well, let's hope we see a hatchling or two today, huh?"

"Let's hope so, boss," said Torrens. With ten-plus eggs and twice as many children to choose from, it wasn't often that there was a Hatching when nothing actually hatched. But it'd happened – and was as disappointing as hell.

A triumphant dragon bugle rang over them, and Murtagh looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun. There was Narada, shining honey-gold in the sun. She landed neatly on Thorn's other side. Both dragons completely ignored each other.

"Hey, boss!" Katya dismounted, unwinding her head scarf with a flourish and coming over to clasp Murtagh's forearm. "Sorry I'm late. But I had a _hell_ of a time getting away from Ilirea." She grinned, and tossed a wink over Murtagh's shoulder to Torrens. "Hey, Torrens."

He saluted her. "Cat."

Katya laughed, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. "So when's the Hatching start?"

"Any minute now, now that _all _the Riders _–_" Murtagh shot Katya a look "– are assembled."

She refused to be abashed. "Aw, come on, boss, it's not even –"

"Save it for later, Katya." Murtagh climbed back into the saddle. _All right, let's go!_

Thorn pushed off the edge of the platform, gliding down to the floor of the amphitheater, Narada and Ampora following. Facing them were the rows of families, seated on the steps carved into the cliff face, and in between them on the rocky ground was the long table, the eggs laid out on it under a heavy cloth.

The audience, quiet from the moment the dragons touched ground, held their breath collectively as Murtagh, Torrens, and Katya dismounted and walked up to the table. Seated in the first two rows were the candidates, eyes wide and hands trembling in both fear and unbridled excitement, and for a fleeting second Murtagh wondered what he and Thorn would have been like if he'd been one of them, and Thorn a waiting egg like those on the table.

"Welcome, everyone!" said Murtagh, the rocky walls amplifying his voice. "Welcome to this year's Hatching!"

The audience applauded, two little girls in the front row gripping each other's hands excitedly. Murtagh smiled, planted his hands on the table in front of him.

"This is a big day for all of us, dragon and human alike," he continued. "But perhaps – for a lucky few of you – it will be even bigger. I must ask all of you candidates now to think seriously about the decision you're about to make. Having a dragon is life-changing. It can alter the very essence of your being." Pausing, Murtagh turned to put a hand on Thorn's nose. "But it's completely worth it," he said quietly.

Thorn whuffed softly, eyes half-lidded in affection. Murtagh ran a thumb across the tiny scales between Thorn's nostrils before turning back to his audience. Many of the candidates were staring open-mouthed at him and Thorn.

"So realize what's at stake when you come up here," he said. "Becoming a Rider is a commitment, more than anything else you will ever do in your life. It means having another living soul tied inextricably to yours. It means leaving your home and family and becoming part of something else. And it means responsibility – it means a _huge_ responsibility." He smiled at the awestruck looks on the candidates' faces. "But it's also absolutely fantastic. And if you're ready – if you really want that – then maybe there's a dragon waiting just for you." Stepping back, he nodded to Torrens and Katya, who came forward to stand at the ends of the table. "And maybe that dragon's right here."

In one smooth motion, Torrens and Katya lifted the cloth off the table. There were the eggs, thirteen of them, gleaming in various shapes and sizes and especially colors. Many of the candidates and spectators audibly gasped.

"Candidates," said Murtagh, making sure to look each one in the eye, "please step forward."

None of them seemed to want to get up. Then one dark-haired boy did, and soon they were all moving in a reverent huddle towards the table.

"Don't be afraid to touch the eggs," said Murtagh as they approached. "Handle them. Get to know them. The dragon needs to get to know _you_ to hatch. And go with your instincts." The candidates were beginning to follow his advice, patting and stroking the eggs with various degrees of hesitation. "If you feel drawn towards an egg, go to it."

Breathless silence filled the amphitheater as the candidates milled around the table. The dragons were watching as avidly as the parents; whoever hatched would be their new comrade and fellow.

There was a sudden squeak of surprise from one of the candidates, a boy with straw-colored hair and freckles. "It moved!" he gasped, pointing to an egg so dark blue it was almost black. "It – it's rocking!"

Every eye in the amphitheater was fixed on him. Katya was instantly at his side, murmuring encouragement, advice. Thorn walked up next to Murtagh, humming, as the boy reached out again to touch his egg.

_Whose egg is that? _Murtagh asked Thorn.

_The sire is Dandr, and the dam, Audren, daughter of Saphira. _

_ So the line continues. _Murtagh mentally contacted Torrens. _Who's the boy? _

_ Tavis, from Kuasta. Those are his parents._ Torrens pointed out a man and woman, both blond and stocky like their son. _This is his third Hatching. He seems like a decent kid. _

The egg rocked again, nearly hitting the eggs on either side of it. Other dragons began humming as well, the chords vibrating off the rocky walls and floor. Murtagh touched their mental stream, heard them talking to the hatchling. _You can do it,_ Thorn was saying. _That's it. Just push a little harder._

With a crackling sound like glass splitting, the egg broke apart into several pieces. And there was a hatchling, dark blue like the egg, unsticking its spindly wings from its sides. Katya murmured something into Tavis' ear, pushed him forward. And Tavis reached out a shaking hand and touched the tip of his fingers to the hatchling's nose.

His shout of pain echoed in the amphitheater and he collapsed against Katya, who dropped to her knees to support him. There were cries and gasps from the audience and candidates as well. Murtagh saw Tavis' mother leap to her feet, hands over her mouth.

"He's fine!" said Murtagh, over the noise. "Perfectly fine. It's all part of being a Rider."

Blinking, Tavis came to himself. Eyes wide, he looked down at the glowing circle on his palm. Katya squeezed his arm comfortingly and helped him to his feet.

The hatchling still sat among the shards of its egg, meticulously licking bits of membrane off its scales. When it saw Tavis, it whined and stretched its neck – so thin and fragile-looking – towards him.

A hesitant smile on his face, Tavis reached out and ran his fingers over its head. And then magic happened as the dragon scrambled up his arms and onto his shoulder, tail twined around his neck and face pressed lovingly into his. Beaming, incredulous, Tavis petted his dragon and turned his head so he could look right into its eyes.

Humming again, Thorn put his head over Murtagh's shoulder, remembering his own hatching. Murtagh looped an arm under his jaw, throat tight. Even in Galbatorix's palace, even after torture and terror, nothing had darkened Thorn's hatching or their memory of it. For those few precious moments, it had been pure love.

Katya led Tavis and his hatchling off to one side. The other candidates slowly returned to the table, running their hands over the eggs. Murtagh was pleased to see there was only a little jostling. Last year a fight had all but broken out between two candidates over an egg. Needless to say, it hadn't hatched for either.

But after nearly fifteen minutes, it became clear none of the other eggs were hatching. _Well, one isn't bad at all,_ thought Murtagh._ And they seem like a good match._

_ Indeed they do, _thought Thorn. Torrens began shepherding the disappointed candidates away from the table – several had tears in their eyes, and one young girl was sobbing in disappointment. Murtagh stepped forward to speak again when one candidate, a dark-haired boy in his early teens, reached back to caress a silvery-green egg for the last time.

And the egg shivered.

The boy gasped, looked right at Murtagh, his eyes wide in his pale face. Without hesitation, Murtagh went to stand behind him, putting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "What's your name?"

"Lane, sir." His voice was quiet, all his attention focused on the now-immobile egg.

"Don't worry, Lane, it's all going to be fine." He gave Lane a little push forward. "Touch the egg again." _Thorn, whose egg is this?_

_ I don't know. This is one of the eggs from Vroengard. _

Lane stepped closer, ran his hand across the silky surface. The egg shivered again, more violently. It began to rock from side to side as the dragons resumed their humming, hair-thin lines appearing on its glassy surface.

"My God," breathed Lane. The hatchling inside squeaked, as if in response to his voice, and he gasped. The cracks were widening, but only slightly, and the squeaking began to get more and more frantic.

"He's stuck!" gasped Lane. "Can I –" He barely glanced at Murtagh for permission before jumping forward and digging his fingernails under one of the cracks. "Hang on, little guy, I'll get you out of here!"

"Whoa, hey, that's not such a good idea," said Murtagh, pulling Lane back. "You'll rip your fingernails to shreds like that."

Lane stared up at him, desperate. "But he's trapped!"

"He just needs a little momentum." And Murtagh knocked the egg off the table.

Lane's cry was barely audible over the sound of the egg shattering. But the sage-green hatchling that shook itself free of the bits of shell was chirping happily.

Awestruck, Lane sunk to his knees next to it. Murtagh knelt beside him, put a hand on his shoulder. "Touch it," he said. "Make contact with your hatchling. It'll hurt a lot, at first. But it's necessary."

Lane took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and touched the top of the hatchling's head. Almost instantaneously his body stiffened, his teeth clenching and his face contorted. Then he went limp against Murtagh, breathing hard.

The gedwey ignasia on Lane's palm was gleaming. Sitting up, he stared at it, then looked up at Murtagh, who smiled. "Welcome to the ranks, Argetlam."

Lane nodded, light brown eyes wide. Then he reached forward and scooped his hatchling up in his arms, cradling it against his chest. The hatchling chirped softly.

Murtagh put a hand on Lane's shoulder and stood. "Thank you, everyone, for coming," he said. "It's always an honor to witness events like these." He looked from Lane to Tavis and smiled. "And for those candidates who were disappointed, you are always welcome to try again next Hatching." He looked over the rejected candidates, wondering which ones would be back next year. "Now please, feel free to head over to the main hall. Our cooks have prepared quite a lot of refreshments, and while I don't doubt the dragons could eat it all, I rather think the food is intended for human consumption."

The audience laughed, and many began moving away. Tavis' parents had joined him and Katya, hugging their child and exclaiming over the hatchling. Lane got to his feet, still holding his hatchling, and scanned the crowd.

"Are your parents here?" asked Murtagh.

"My mum is," said Lane. His face lit up as he spotted her. "There she is!" He waved, beaming.

Murtagh looked over. And then his jaw nearly dropped.

The woman walking over to Lane with a smile on her face was an _elf._

_Half-elf! _said Murtagh weakly to Thorn. Sure, now he could see it in Lane's face – the smooth pallor of his skin, his high cheekbones, the slant of his eyes…the slight point to his ears.

Thorn sniffed. _I don't see what all the fuss is. You look like a half-elf yourself._

_Yeah, but…it's just so _rare.

"Shur'turgal?"

The elf's voice was silvery without being high-pitched. Murtagh looked up at her, right into her silvery-green eyes. She was standing with an arm around Lane's shoulders, silver hair pulled back in a neat bun. "Well, this is a big day, indeed," she said, and held out one slim-fingered hand. "My name is Aedela."

Murtagh took her hand, her skin cool and smooth against his. "Pleased to meet you, Aedela."


	2. Aedela

The main hall was a grand building, slate-floored, overlooking the ocean, its timber frame broad and tall enough to accommodate several dragons along with the Riders and various staff of the Academy. Today there were considerately more humans than usual, candidates and families all seated at the long trestle tables, laughing and eating and discussing the day's Hatching.

Seated in the crook of Thorn's elbow, Murtagh idly ran a finger down a row of ruby-red scales. _So what do you think?_

_ Of the new Riders? _Thorn grunted, laid his head down on the floor. _Adequate enough. There's nothing special about Tavis. He just seems like a decent, solid kid._

_ Well, we could use a solid Rider. We've got enough flighty ones as it is. _He scanned the crowd, looking for a flash of silver hair. _And what about Lane?_

_ He feels…untested. There might be more to him than meets the eye…then again, there might not._

_Mm. _Murtagh shifted to a more comfortable position, folding his arms. _I guess time will tell._

Thorn's response was interrupted by a mental shout from another dragon. _Hey!_ With a whoosh of air, Sonorm landed through the open wall, scales coppery in the candlelight. _Thorn, come fly with us!_

Thorn raised his head to look out at the flying dragons, silhouetted against the sunset. _Oh, I don't know…_

_ Aw, come on! Please?_ At only a year old, Sonorm was still very much a dragonet. _Please, Thorn? Please?_

_ If you insist._ Thorn winked at Murtagh, and then tipped him off his leg and onto the floor.

_Ow! Thorn – _But Thorn got to his feet, launched himself out of the building, and flew off with Sonorm to join the other dragons cavorting in the air.

Grimacing, Murtagh got to his feet, brushing his jacket off and hoping no one had seen that. As he looked around the room, he happened to meet the eyes of Aedela. Putting a hand on her son's shoulder, she got up and walked straight towards Murtagh.

"Hello," she said, once she'd reached him.

Murtagh ducked his head briefly. "What can I do for you?"

Aedala smiled a little. She was a fragile-looking thing – slim, fine-boned and delicate – but Murtagh wagered she was as tough as he was. Tougher, even.

"I want you to watch over my son," she said.

Unexpected, but not…unsurprising. "Why?" asked Murtagh.

"You don't know what it's been like for him," said Aedela. She stepped closer to Murtagh, eyes fixed on his. "To grow up as an outcast…to be feared by his father's people and scorned by his mother's, to watch the boys he played with grow up and start families of their own while he ages at half the rate…Now, thanks to his hatchling, he finally has a chance to _fit in_ and I won't have that ruined just because some of the older students think it fun to torment the younger."

Murtagh's first impulse was to smile, laugh it off, tell her he didn't think that sort of thing would happen. But he couldn't ignore the sincerity burning in Aedela's eyes. "I'll watch over him," he promised quietly. "And bullying here is never condoned, not for any reason, not from anyone, man or dragon."

"Thank you." Aedela looked up at him for a moment longer before drawing away, folding her arms and turning to watch the dragons play against the dying sunset.

Something about her drew Murtagh in. Maybe it was the strength behind her refined features, or maybe just the glow of candlelight on her skin, or the way the plain homespun of her dress contrasted with the gleaming silver of her hair.

Over the ocean, Thorn was chasing Jin, nipping playfully at her tail.

"Where – where is your husband?" Murtagh asked.

Aedela sighed, chest falling slightly. "Under six feet of earth in a little village near Ceunon."

Oh. "I'm sorry," said Murtagh, cursing himself for his bluntness.

"It's all right," said Aedela. She looked sideways at him with a hint of a smile. "He died nearly twenty years ago."

"How did it happen? If…if you don't mind my asking…"

"No, it's all right." Aedela turned towards the sunset again, pale skin tinted warm. "It was an accident. He was helping some neighbors to raise the roof on their barn when a pole slipped, and…The log broke his neck. It was quick, at least."

"I'm sorry," said Murtagh again. It seemed to be the only thing he _could _say – but it was true.

"It wasn't until after he died that I found out I was pregnant." Aedela shot him another sideways look. "And I know you're probably thinking what every village gossip and busybody was at the time, but Lane is my husband's son. Pregnancy is…different for elves. It can be months, even years between the act and the first signs of pregnancy." Her lips pursed slightly, and her fingers tapped restlessly on her arms. "But try explaining that to a bunch of superstitious old crones."

"I'll admit, it's not something I'm keen on doing," said Murtagh, and Aedela laughed.

"No, and I don't imagine you'd have much more success at that than I did," she said. "But…it meant leaving Cerinton. Starting a new life somewhere else."

Murtagh looked at her with increased respect. The strength it must have taken for her to do that, on her own and pregnant…well, he was right when he'd guessed she was tougher than him. "Where did you go?"

"Another village, far enough away that they hadn't heard the rumors. Of course, I wasn't completely accepted – how could I be? But at least no one called Lane a bastard."

"And you were on your own? Making a living all by yourself?"

Aedela looked at him, silver-green eyes wide. "Of course. Who would support me? An elf, and a widow at that…I mean, I got a little charity, but not enough to live off of…so I had to support myself and Lane."

"What did you do? Magic?" Murtagh pictured a small village, what daily life might be like. "I'm sure they'd appreciate a magician."

Aedela let out a short _hah_ of laughter. "Hardly. They mistrusted me as it was, do you think I was going to give them further incentives to accuse me of being a witch and a sorceress? No, I made a living weaving baskets." She ran her thumbs over her fingers. "It wasn't so bad. And after a while, you learn to make do without magic." Looking at Murtagh, she raised a wry eyebrow at him. "I know you don't think that's possible, but it is."

"No! Not impossible, but…_hard_." Murtagh looked at her, couldn't imagine having to give up a power as integral to one's being as breathing. At this point, his respect for her was through the roof. "And you lived like that for twenty years?"

"Mm-hm." Aedela nodded, shrugged. "Like I said, you get used to it."

"Well, my hat goes off to you." Outside, one of the dragons let out a raucous bray of laughter, making every head in the hall turn towards them. _Thorn, are you making a fool of yourself again?_

_ Hardly. Sonorm, on the other hand…_Murtagh grinned as he listened in on Sonorm's embarrassed sputtering about some aerial maneuver gone wrong. _Some of these dragonets have more scales than sense._

_ Well, that's why you're here to knock some brains into them, _said Murtagh. _Ey, buddy?_

Thorn laughed, looping around to soar past the open walls of the hall. _Better than the lot _you _have to deal with. _

_ True, that._ Murtagh, smiling, returned back to his surroundings. Aedela had her eyes on her son, who was feeding his hatchling with little bits of meat, and her fierce pride and motherly devotion was almost palpable.

"He'll do well," said Murtagh quietly. "Nearly everyone does. You won't have to worry."

"Oh, I know," said Aedela. "All the same…sometimes you just do."


	3. Mirren's World

In his sleep, Murtagh opened his eyes and found himself in the Eldunari world again.

It wasn't real; just a place existing within the subconscious of the sleeping Eldunari. Only one Eldunari, in fact – if the others could come, Murtagh had never seen them.

That Eldunari was Mirren, the oldest of the five Arya had entrusted to Murtagh. He supposed it said something for Mirren's personality that the land she had constructed for herself was a grassy meadow, green and growing in the sunlight, the turf spotted with little white and yellow flowers. And there was Mirren herself, visible not as an Eldunari but as a dragon, gargantuan with age, her toes as long as Murtagh was tall, her scales a pale golden-green.

_Murtagh, _she rumbled as he walked to where she lay. _How was the Hatching?_

_ It went well. We have two new dragons and Riders._ He settled himself cross-legged next to her massive head. Despite the bright sunlight, she cast no shadow. _One dragon is a grandchild of Saphira's. The other hatched from a Vroengard egg – we don't know who his parents are. _

_ Hmm. What color is he?_

_ A sort of silvery-green. It's not a very strong color._

Mirren's pupils, already bigger than his head, dilated and her tail twitched. _And the egg was the same color?_

_ I believe so, yes. Why?_

Mirren was practically quivering in joy. _That's my son! My son has hatched!_

_ Wh – Wow, really? Congratulations! _Smiling, Murtagh reached out a hand and patted her on the giant cheek. _He's a beautiful hatchling._

_ Of course he is,_ preened Mirren. _He's mine._

But despite the joy of the moment, something didn't quite add up. Murtagh frowned, trying to piece out what it was, until…

_But Mirren, shouldn't you already know that? I mean, you've watched Hatchings before. I'm pretty sure some of the other Eldunari were there as well._

Mirren sighed. In the real world, the wave of hot air from her nostrils would have temporarily flattened the meadow grass in front of her; here, not a blade stirred. _It's getting harder and harder for me to extend my consciousness,_ she said. _I can't see around me much, anymore._

Appalled, Murtagh stared at her, put a hand on her cheek again. _But…why?_

_ Not enough energy. I'm too old, Murtagh, too old and too big. Before, I could work with the energy of hundreds of other Eldunari, and before that with thousands of other dragons…but now it's just the five us and whatever half-dozen dragons you've got around. It's not enough. _She sighed again, a wistful creak running through her nostrils. _I'm fading. _

_ I'm sorry,_ said Murtagh quietly. _Is there anything I can do?_

_ Oh, I don't know,_ said Mirren, and she sounded more tired than anything else. _It may not matter, in the end, anyway._ Before Murtagh could respond to the spike of panic that her words created in him, she smiled a small dragon's smile at him. _But I can visit your dreams a little while longer, I think. It's not as hard._

Swallowing, Murtagh ran a hand down her gem-hard scales, looked up into her gleaming eye. _Why?_

_ More energy in there._ Chuckling, Mirren raised her head and _very carefully_ nudged Murtagh in the forehead with her snout. _You don't realize how much is going on in your brain that you don't control. The subconscious is full of energy, Murtagh – the subconscious of a dragon even more so. It makes things quite a bit easier._

_ Well, that's good,_ said Murtagh._ Wouldn't want to lose you anytime soon._


	4. Watch Him

Murtagh's least favorite part of a Hatching was always the farewells. As exciting, as incredible, as _fantastic_ as it was to be bonded with a dragon, it never quite made up for the leaving of home and family.

And darn it all, he just felt uneasy watching kids cry.

Dragons, both guest and from the Academy, were flying people out from the central courtyard. Tavis was standing with his parents, putting on a brave face as his father blessed him, hands on his son's shoulders. And off to one side was Aedela, arms twined around Lane.

He had his face hid in her chest, his hatchling perched on his shoulder. But as Murtagh glanced at them, Aedela raised her head from Lane's hair and looked straight at Murtagh.

The morning light made her eyes glint from under her fiercely angled eyebrows. A touch brushed Murtagh's mind, gentle but razor-sharp, and he cautiously lowered his walls.

_Watch over him, Murtagh,_ she said. _Watch. My. Son. _

He nodded his head, a chill running down his spine. And then he walked over to Tavis' family, who were blond and solid and very, very human.


	5. All the Same

Murtagh woke up with a sharp pain shooting down his right shoulder and a sharper one in his heart. Pushing himself up in bed, he instinctively reached for Thorn and found both sensations were coming from him. _Thorn?_

All he got in response was a confused swirl of anger, hurt, and cursing in words known only to dragonkind. With a feeling he knew what was happening, Murtagh began to gently push into Thorn's mind and sure enough there was Jin, the moonlight sparkling on her white and orange scales, flying away and leaving Thorn to bay his heartbreak at the moon.

_Thorn, buddy,_ said Murtagh softly. _Come back. Come here._

_NO!_ growled Thorn. He was airborne, winging mindless broken circles above the mountains behind the Academy.

_Come on, Thorn. Please. _Murtagh winced as a sudden outburst of pain and anger and _loneliness_ from Thorn made his eyes sting. While he was at it, he pinpointed Thorn's physical injury – a stinging gash on his right shoulder. _Before you set the forest on fire._

Thorn roared, loudly enough that Murtagh could dimly hear it with his physical ears, and spouted a scarlet fireball into the sky. Sitting up, Murtagh put his face in his hands, trying very hard to walk the fine line in between being in touch with Thorn and getting sucked into the whirling maelstrom of his emotions. _Okay, how about I give you fifteen minutes to calm down, and then you come back? _Murtagh never let his mental tone waver from one of quiet sympathy. _Please, Thorn._

This time Thorn's roar was closer to a scream, and he nearly tumbled out of the sky before catching himself and flying drunkenly off over the mountains. Murtagh folded his arms on his knees and put his forehead down, heart aching badly enough for his dragon that he wanted to cry himself. But at this point there wasn't much he could do, just sit here and send out his sorrow and sympathy and affection like it was a rope tethering Thorn to him…

Eventually Thorn's mood quieted, enough so that Murtagh ventured to ask, _Are you coming back now?_

It took Thorn a little while to answer. _Yeah,_ he said at last, and the restrained agony behind that one word made Murtagh want to cry for him all over again. _Yeah, I'm coming._

_ I'll be waiting for you, buddy._ Murtagh got out of bed, pulled a shirt on – even though spring was coming, the nights were still a little frosty. Pulling the blanket off his bed, he wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape and settled cross-legged on his mattress.

Thorn landed on the ledge outside about five minutes later with a muffled thump. Despite that all he wanted to do was jump up and run to Thorn, Murtagh sat still and let Thorn come to him.

He waited maybe fifteen seconds before Thorn put his shoulder against the moving wall of their house and slid it back with a rasp of wood against stone. Murtagh welled up with sympathy for his dragon, a poor dark drooping shape in the cold blue moonlight.

_Hey, buddy,_ he said softly.

_Hey._ Thorn shouldered the door shut and slumped to the Urzhard-pelt covered floor.

Standing up, Murtagh walked over to sit next to Thorn's head, leaning against the junction between head and neck. Already, the heat radiating from Thorn's scales was making Murtagh's blanket superfluous. _How are you feeling?_

_Like sh-t._

_I know, bud. I know._ Murtagh ran a hand under Thorn's eye. _Want me to heal your shoulder?_

Thorn made a tiny sound halfway between a grunt and a whine. _Sure,_ he said at last.

Murtagh turned around and skimmed a hand over Thorn's shoulder, barely touching the scales. It was dark, but he didn't really need light to figure it out.

A phrase from the ancient language closed the gash, the light from Murtagh's gedwey ignasia briefly making Thorn's scales glow scarlet. That wound healed, Murtagh leaned back against Thorn's cheek and turned his attention to the far deeper injury. _Do you want to talk?_

_What's to talk about?_ growled Thorn.

Instead of saying anything, Murtagh just rested his head against Thorn's, toes curling in the shaggy forest of the Urzhad pelt under him. Instinct and experience alike said don't say anything, don't push it. Just be there. So he just shifted to a more comfortable position against Thorn and continued to lightly run his fingers over the scales under Thorn's eye.

At last Thorn closed his eyes and sighed, and there was a faint rough thread of a moan in there that made Murtagh's throat close up. _I thought she liked me,_ said Thorn quietly.

_We all did, pal._

_But when it came down to it…she just didn't like me enough._

_She just wasn't right for you. Don't worry, Thorn, you'll find someone._

_That was what you said after Narada. _Thorn rolled a bitter eye back at him. _And Bedella. And Audren. And Laigla. And Tavre. It's what you keep telling yourself, too, but look at us. _Murtagh shut his eyes, mouth twisting in discomfort. _Who have we got?_

_We've got _each other, said Murtagh firmly. _That's all we need to have._

_All the same…_

_All the same, _and suddenly that old desolation threatened to rise up inside Murtagh again. All the same, nonetheless, despite everything…

All the same, loneliness still sucked.

Murtagh scooted even closer to Thorn, rested his hand on Thorn's eye ridge and closed his eyes. It was quiet, both in the room and in their minds, Thorn's pain numbed to a dull throb. After a long, long while, Thorn finally spoke up again. _I know why she rejected me. I know why they all did._

A faint spike of alarm materialized in Murtagh's stomach. _No, Thorn, I'm sure _–

_I know why._ Thorn huffed out another sigh, and this time it was bitter like a barrel full of brine water left too long outside. _It's because I've stopped growing. They don't want me. I'm not _big_ enough._

_No, no, that's not it, _Murtagh hastened to reassure him, though he couldn't remember when he'd first realized that after seventy years Thorn was little bigger than he had been after defeating Galbatorix. _Dragonets go through massive growth spurts, yes, but only for the first couple of years, can you imagine if every dragon grew at that rate forever? We'd never be able to feed them._

_But I'm not growing _at all. _Thanks to the artificial growth Galbatorix forced on me. _Thorn raised his head off the ground, curving his neck around to look at Murtagh. _Don't tell me you haven't thought the same thing, because you have. _

_Look, it's not – it's just a theory,_ said Murtagh. _We – we don't know if it's really – if that's really what –_

_Oh, shut up,_ said Thorn, dropping his head back to the floor. Murtagh rubbed behind his jaw sympathetically, wishing he had an answer to reassure the both of them.

_Thorn, we've got thousands of years. Only taking a hundred to find love really isn't that long in…in the big scheme of things._

_Sure feels long,_ sighed Thorn.

_Yeah._ Murtagh closed his eyes again, trying hard not to be reminded of smooth brown skin and big dark eyes and the only queen he'd ever known. _Sometimes it feels really, really long._

Part of him wanted to get up and go back to bed, but the Urzhad rug was comfortable enough, and his limbs didn't really want to move, and on top of that Thorn was just so, so warm…

_You know, Thorn,_ said Murtagh muzzily, almost about to fall asleep, _if you're not growing normally…we could always use magic…_

_Yeah? _Thorn was teetering on the edge of slumber too. _Could that work?_

_Sure. S'long as we have enough energy…_

And then they were both asleep, curled up on the fur-covered floor.


	6. Aspen

Tavis and Lane stood side by side, eyes trained on the sky. Both of them were standing still, but their dragons betrayed their eagerness. Tavis' Habadr was quivering with excitement beside him, and Lane's Kadi was having a hard time staying in one spot at all.

Laughing, Murtagh came up behind them and clapped them on the shoulders. "Excited to see your parents?"

"Yes, sir," said Tavis, grinning back up at Murtagh.

"You too, Lane?"

"Yeah," said Lane. There was a lot of intensity behind that one quiet syllable.

"Atta boys." Murtagh squeezed their shoulders.

_Tagen's almost here, with Tavis' parents,_ said Thorn. He'd settled himself at the edge of the broad slate ledge that served as the Academy's main takeoff and landing platform. Murtagh glanced back at him, still a little smug over the success of their first attempted growth spell – nearly two feet of extra length and another foot at the shoulder. Thorn winked lazily at him.

"Someone's here!" shouted Tavis, pointing up at the dragon that had swooped into view. Habadr rose up on his hind legs and barked, his shoulders on level with Tavis'.

_Yes, that would be Tagen and Anabel,_ said Thorn. He stretched his neck up and bugled a welcome. _Safe flight?_

_The safest,_ answered Tagen. He glided down towards them, scales a purpley-red deep enough to drown in. _Hello, young ones._

_Greetings! _shouted Habadr. Tavis looped an arm around his dragon's neck affectionately. With hardly any wind, Tagen glided to a perfect landing on the ledge, all three of his passengers beaming.

"Tavis!" His parents couldn't unbuckle the riding straps and dismount fast enough; the minute their feet touched ground, they rushed over and embraced their son. But Anabel literally jumped off, using Tagen's shoulder as a springboard, and threw herself at Murtagh. "He-ey, Boss!"

"Hey!" he laughed, catching her in a hug and swinging her around in a circle. "Long time, no see, huh? How was it down south?"

"Great!" she said. Murtagh set her down, held her out at arm's length. She'd gotten tan; when she unwound her headscarf, he saw she'd cropped her dark brown hair to shoulder length.

"Well, you've changed," said Murtagh. Anabel laughed, ruffled her hair.

"I know, it felt weird at first," she said. "But it's just so much more practical."

"I guess." Though Murtagh knew how long hair was a severe annoyance in flight for the female Riders – hence the headscarves – the short hair made Anabel look unnervingly boyish. "But your flight went well?"

"Oh yeah, super great," said Anabel, looking over at the little family group. "Tavis' parents are a quiet lot, though."

"It's only their second time on dragonback, give them credit." Behind him, Thorn bugled again, not quite as loudly as before. Murtagh looked up and saw Jin's unmistakable orange-splotched shape winging down towards them.

_How was the flight?_ he asked for Thorn.

_Fine,_ answered Anbar. He seemed uneasy, and Murtagh didn't blame him – it was always awkward when you had to talk to the Rider of the dragon that yours rejected. _There was a storm around Tierm, but we avoided it easily._

_Good._ Murtagh stepped back to give Jin room to land. Anbar slid to the ground, and by common courtesy he should have been the one helping Aedela dismount, but somehow Murtagh found himself there instead, a hand held up to her. "Ma'am?"

"Why, thank you." Aedela smiled a little at him, placed one cool hand lightly on his. She barely needed the support.

"Mum!" Lane, grinning ear-to-ear, rushed towards her, Kida following him like a giant scaly dog. "Hi!"

"Hello, darling!" Laughing, Aedela hugged him. "How are you? Are you all right? Do you get enough sleep? You look tired…"

Murtagh backed away, smiling, letting Aedela and Lane talk and catch up while Kida wound herself around their legs, crooning. But even when he went back to Thorn – even throughout the day, when he showed the parents around and went over business with the steward Hartman and practiced swordplay, he never quite lost track of where Aedela was. It wasn't conscious, or deliberate – just the sort of thing that happened when he was mentally keeping a light watch over the entire Academy anyway and she was a brilliant point of light like a diamond. So it didn't surprise him at all when she walked up next to him in the garden by the giant slab of stone that had somehow ended up being named Vrael's Rock.

"Hello," said Murtagh, standing up straight. He'd been leaning against the tall end of the Rock, looking out at the hazy blueness of the noonday ocean. "And how are you?"

"Fine, thanks." Aedela stepped up next to him, hands neatly clasped in front of her. "It's a beautiful day."

"Yes, it is," agreed Murtagh, looking over at her. In the sunlight, her hair practically sparkled. "And – and how is Lane?"

A quiet smile of contentment curved Aedela's lips. "He's fine," she said. "Thank you."

She was so different from all the others. Different like a slender aspen among oak trees.

"Would you like to see more of the gardens?" asked Murtagh. "I can show you around, if you like."

Aedela turned her smile on him, and Murtagh felt a tiny lightening in his chest like a dragonet's first faltering wingbeats. "That would be lovely."


	7. Fire is Coming

When Murtagh walked into the Eldunari dreamspace he knew at once something was different. He thought maybe the flowers were gone – or a different color – or maybe there was a hint of stormclouds on the distant horizon. Neither were true, but as he walked over to sit next to Mirren he couldn't shake that feeling that _something had changed._

_You feel it, don't you?_ said Mirren the second his butt touched grass.

_Yes, I do._ Murtagh crossed his legs, looked up at her. Mirren's bottom eyelid was higher than his head. _What is it?_

_Me. Brooding,_ said Mirren. _Something touches on my mind and will not let go._

_Oh…Should I be worried?_

_Yes, you should, little one. Something comes. Something of fire and heat and great pain._

Murtagh shivered. _Could you be a little clearer…and maybe a little less ominous?_

_No. _Mirren's flat denial chilled him to the bone. _That is all I know. Fire is coming, Murtagh. Fire will burn._

Murtagh didn't hang around for much longer after that. And then he woke in the chill air of his room, gasping, and didn't go back to sleep for a very, very long time.


	8. Asking Never Hurts

_She didn't say when?_ asked Thorn.

_Nope. _Murtagh leaned back in his chair, tapped his fingers on his desk. _Just "Fire is coming." _He sighed. _Why does anyone with any important knowledge always have to be so damn vague? _

_ Dramatic effect? _Thorn, stretched out on the floor, took up the entire length of the room; his tail had to loop around the other side. _After all, how much fun would it be if you knew all the answers from the beginning?_

_ Yes, because I'm having so much fun sitting around trying to guess what's going to happen._ Murtagh cast a rueful glance over the piles of papers and books on, around, and even under his desk. His search through the Academy's archives had been nothing but futile; Murtagh was beginning to suspect he might need to visit the elves if he wanted any light shed on Mirren's "brooding." There was the Royal Library, too, but somehow he didn't think he'd have much luck there, and Torrens was flying back from the library at Farthen Dur, he'd messaged in earlier and was due back any minute now…

A dragon bugled a welcome overhead and the sunlight streaming in was temporarily dampened. Murtagh looked over to see the sparkling purple bulk of Ampora lower onto Thorn's landing ledge. _Good afternoon to you, Thorn, Murtagh._

_Afternoon, _answered Murtagh. Thorn snaked his neck through the open window to touch noses with Ampora, the two of them having their own conversation. With a _hup_ of expelled air, Torrens slid off Ampora's back. Sunlight glowed on the charcoal leather of his jacket.

"Hey, Boss," said Torrens, striding towards Murtagh, a long leather tube swinging from a strap in his hand. "How's it going?"

"Fine," said Murtagh, getting to his feet and shaking Torrens' hand. There were dark circles under Torrens' eyes. "You look tired."

"Oh God." Torrens rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

Frowning, Murtagh took the tube, uncapping it to look at the rolled-up parchment within. "Are you sure you got everything?"

"Boss, you wanted everything related, but there's loads and most of it is archaic nonsense. I picked through it and brought the most important stuff."

"Shouldn't you have left that to me?" Murtagh tipped the papers onto his desk, trying to find a clear space to spread them out. He had to remember not to mix them up with Academy documents.

Torrens raked a hand through his hair, making it stand up in scruffy brown spikes. "When I say loads, I mean literal loads. I'd have need a wagon to haul it all back, and ninety-nine percent would just have been context to understand that one page with what might be a reference. Trust me, I've saved you a lot of long nights."

"And took them on yourself, it looks like," said Murtagh. He cast a sympathetic eye over Torrens' drooping eyelids and sagging shoulders. "Go get some rest."

"Yeah." The word came out thick with relief, but Torrens was only halfway to the open wall when he stopped and turned around, hesitation pulling his eyebrows up. "Boss? Can – can I talk to you?"

"Sure." Murtagh sat down, hooked a chair towards him and lifted a pile of books off of it. "What about?" Torrens sat down, drumming his hands on his thighs. He had a round face but very sensitive, delicate features; it was clear that whatever he was going to say wasn't going to come easy. "Did something happen?"

"Not really…" Shifting forward uneasily, Torrens propped his elbows on his knees. "While I was in Farthen Dur, I, uh, I heard people talking."

Well, that wasn't anything new. "About…?"

"They, uh – well, about some – about some of the girl Riders here…"

_Oh. _Murtagh felt like he might have an inkling of what Torrens was talking about. "What specifically?"

"Well, because some of them wear pants and have short hair, they say they don't – um – have the same interests that most girls do…that they – uh – prefer other – other girls when they're, um…you know…"

Sighing, Murtagh rubbed his temple. "The word is 'lesbians,' Torrens. You're a big boy, you can say it."

"Um, right." Torrens twisted his hands together between his knees. "Well, yeah. People say that."

"And that bothers you because…?" Murtagh eyed Torrens, wondering if it would be ethical to get inside his mind and figure out the real reason for his discomfort. "People have been saying much the same thing about male Riders for hundreds of years. Yet you never seemed to have a problem with it."

"Well, this – this is different." Torrens was looking down at the floor now. "I don't want them saying that about – about –"

"About Katya?" finished Murtagh quietly.

Torrens met Murtagh's eyes, and for a moment he looked very young. "Yeah."

He'd had a feeling it came down to this. "Torrens, just because people say it doesn't mean it's true."

"But what if it is?" Torrens' voice was edged with desperation. "What if that's why – why she never –"

"Torrens, have you ever actually told her you like her?"

Looking down at his knees, Torrens said in a very small voice, "No."

"You might want to try that." Murtagh smiled at Torrens, somehow not surprised that it was taking him almost fifty years to work up the courage to confess his attraction to Katya. "Before you start wondering if she's a lesbian."


	9. Love You Too

_Sorry for the sudden hiatus - finals and things, ya know. But now that I'm on vacation I'll have time to write and finish this up. So have some disgustingly fluffy dragon-hugging to make up for my absence._

* * *

><p>In the end it was obvious to Murtagh that he had to go to Ellesmera; he wasn't getting a single damn hint about this "fire" otherwise. He started planning – this wasn't going to be a quick trip, and with two year-old Riders he had to make sure they were left in responsible hands. He trusted Torrens. And maybe Katya.<p>

But then, as he was looking at a map, planning his route, he noticed that it really wasn't too far out of his way to stop at Ceunon. In fact, considering it was an overnight flight, he'd probably have to stay there anyway.

Aedela lived near Ceunon, he remembered.

_Thorn,_ said Murtagh slowly, smoothing out the map on his desk, _what do you think about a detour to Cerinton?_

Busy tearing into a deer carcass outside, Thorn grunted. _Why?_

Murtagh shrugged. _I thought I might visit Aedela. _

_ Ohoho! _Thorn raised his head with a _whuff!_, looking at Murtagh through the open wall. _Aedela? The elf woman? Lane's mother?_

_Yes, her._ Murtagh couldn't help the smile on his face, and honestly, he didn't really mind.

There was a loud scraping of scales against stone as Thorn scrambled up and over, his bulk blocking most of the sunlight, his muzzle dripping blood and far too close to Murtagh's face. _You _like _her!_

_Yes, I like her, you nimrod._ Murtagh pushed on Thorn's forehead. _Now move your head, you're getting blood on my papers. _

_You like her!_ Thorn was jubilant enough that he allowed Murtagh to back him out onto the ledge. _I knew it, I knew it – _

_Took you long enough,_ chuckled Murtagh, slapping Thorn on the muzzle affectionately. Thorn grunted and pushed his nose into Murtagh's chest, nearly knocking him over.

_I noticed, I just didn't comment,_ he said. Murtagh smirked and wiped his hand off on his pants.

_Yeah, yeah, you big lump._ He pushed Thorn's head back to the dead deer. _Finish your lunch._

Thorn resisted, though, raising his head to Murtagh's level and looking him straight in the eyes. _Are you serious about her?_

_ I don't know. _Thorn was about to protest when Murtagh mentally shushed him. _I mean it, Thorn. How I can I be? We've barely spent any time together. _He sighed, trying to sort out the little knot of feelings in his head. _I guess that's why I want to go. To see if I really do want to pursue her. _

_ And what if you do? _Thorn pushed his head closer to Murtagh, and there was a thin layer of worry to his mental voice. _Then what?_

_Well – assuming she returns my interest – we work out our relationship._ Murtagh placed a hand on the broad bridge of Thorn's nose._ Don't worry, bud, I won't leave you._

_I know._ Thorn lowered his head so his forehead was flat against Murtagh's chest, the tip of his snout brushing Murtagh's boots. Murtagh leaned into him, face pressed against the cool smoothness of Thorn's scales, put his hands on Thorn's cheeks.

_Hey – whatever happens – nothing gets between the two of us, yeah?_ he said. _Nothing._

Thorn whuffed quietly, eyes closed. _You are mine and I love you._

_Love you too._


	10. Letters

The morning they flew out was cold and drizzly. Murtagh, leather bag slung over his shoulder, paused in his walk from the kitchens to watch the three junior Riders troop in from fencing practice. He grinned. They were spattered head to toe with mud.

"Have a good practice?" he called.

"Fine!" called Katya, beaming proudly. "We've got some nimble ones here."

"Yeah? I bet." Murtagh watched them with a fond smile as they walked up to him. "Doing all right, you lot? I hope you're minding your teacher."

"Of course, sir," said Ellit brightly, her face flushed with exercise.

"Atta girl." Murtagh clapped her on the shoulder, ruffled Tavis' hair. "Doing all right, Tavis? Lane – can I have a word with you?"

"Of course, sir." Lane pushed his hair out of his face and followed Murtagh a little ways off the path. "What is it?"

Murtagh propped a foot against a rock. "I'm going to be flying up to Ceunon today. Do you have any messages for your mother?"

"Oh, um…" Lane's hair, thanks to exercise, moisture, and his fingers, resembled a bird's nest more than anything else. "Just tell her that I'm doing fine, Kadi's great too, um…" He bit his lip, thinking. "Actually…can I write a letter?"

They really had to get going. Murtagh and Thorn should have flown out a couple hours ago. And then for some reason thought of Selena and how the only reason he knew what his mother's face looked like was because he'd seen a fairth of her.

"You've got fifteen minutes, kid," he said, smiling despite the tight little knot under his collarbone. "Bring it to my house."


	11. Unexpected

The master of the magicians' guild in Ceunon was extremely insistent Murtagh and Thorn spend the night there.

"I assure you, sir, we have spacious accommodation for both you and your dragon!" he said. "And our cooks are preparing to slaughter three young oxen as we speak! They have been fed since birth on nothing but green grass in the summer and honey and oats in the winter –"

_I've changed my mind. Can we stay?_ said Thorn.

Murtagh looked up at him. He was smirking. "No, let your oxen live a little longer," he said. "Thorn and I really must be on our way."

Working hard to conceal his disappointment, the guildmaster bowed. "Of course, Shur'turgal," he said. "May safe winds accompany your flight."

Murtagh tilted his head in return, hand over his heart. "And may prosperity attend all your ventures."

He turned, stepped up Thorn's outstretched leg, and buckled himself into the saddle. Thorn unfurled his wings – the growth spells had increased his wingspan by at least a couple yards, Murtagh noted with smug satisfaction – and pushed off into the scarlet sunset.

Thorn was laughing, his sides moving under Murtagh's legs. _That poor man. He'll be heartbroken forever._

_ Oh, shut up._ Maybe it was the phrase "heartbroken forever," but suddenly Murtagh didn't feel like joking around.

_How can you live with yourself? You've doomed him to a life of longing and unfulfilled hopes – _

_ I said, shut up!_

Thorn pulled his mind away. For a little while there was only the vast and steady rushing of Thorn's wings through air. _Do you want to talk? _he asked quietly at last.

Murtagh sighed and rubbed the heel of his palm against the saddle. In addition to his sudden bitterness, he now felt guilty for snapping at Thorn. _Thanks, _he said, _but I don't think it'll help…_

_ Are you sure?_

_ Yeah, yeah, I…I don't know._ The land beneath them was russet and copper in the light of the setting sun. _I just…I don't know, buddy, I'm sorry._

_It's okay._ Thorn swept on, calm and serene. _Maybe Aedela will help instead._

Sh-t. Now Murtagh really felt guilty. Thorn was his soulmate, his partner for life. He should never, ever need anyone other than him. _Thorn, I…_

_ It's all right._ Thorn was tranquil like the red depths of a sea, his dragon, and Murtagh loved him intensely. _You still need a human partner, just as I need a dragon. It doesn't mean what we have is any less fulfilling. _

Murtagh sat there a moment, struggling against the tears pricking his eyes and the happy-sad fullness in his chest. Then he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Thorn's neck, careful to avoid the neck spikes. _You're the best, Thorn, you know that? Best damn dragon in all of Alagaesia. Better than Saphira, better than Firnen…better than all of them._

Thorn chuckled, and the warmth radiating from his mind was like a dragon-sized hug. _A dragon is only as good as his Rider,_ he said.

_That is most definitely not the case right now, but have it your way._ Sighing, Murtagh pushed himself upright – his stomach was smarting from where he'd pressed it against the saddle. _Is that Cerinton over there?_

_ I assume so._ Thorn swooped lower so that he could get a better look at the little village, nestled between two rolling hills. _And exactly how much word have you given Aedela of our coming?_

_ Uhhh…none?_ Murtagh scratched uncomfortably behind one ear. _I thought I'd keep it a surprise?_

Thorn snorted, sending a puff of smoke flying past them. _I'm sure she'll be delighted._

_ I hope…_Uneasiness clawed at Murtagh's stomach and he started to reach out with his mind. Aedela was so bright, he should be able to find her, no problem…

There she was, like a morning star. Murtagh cautiously touched her mind, careful to stay just on the fringes. _Greetings._

_ Murtagh! What – what are you…_

_ Thorn and I have to fly up to Ellesmera. We thought we'd drop by and see you on the way, maybe spend the night._ When she didn't reply, he added, _Is that all right?_

_ Oh no, it's fine!_ He got the sense there was something else behind her tone, but he couldn't tell more without invading her privacy. _Sorry, you just surprised me. _

_ Yeah…sorry about that. I probably should have given you more notice._

_ Don't worry about it. _This time there was a hint of a laugh. _Are you close?_

_Fairly. We'll be there in a few minutes._

_ Okay. _Aedela drifted closer, let their minds touch more, and Murtagh got the sense of rainwater and rosemary and fine-brushed silver. _I'll see you then._


	12. Misplaced Diamond

Aedela lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of the village. It was neat and clean, but rustic all the same, and completely the wrong place for her. Her living there was like…was like setting a diamond on a band of cheap copper. With Lane in the Academy, Murtagh couldn't see why she just didn't return to Du Weldenvarden.

He asked her as much, after they'd eaten. Aedela, wiping out the inside of a ceramic pot, shrugged and replied, "I don't know. Guess I just got used to living here. Spend too much time in one place, you forget you don't have a reason to stay…and besides, I don't really have the means to go back anyway." She smiled a little. "It's a long walk."

"True." Murtagh ran a finger over the rough wood grain of the table. "But why – and forgive me if I'm being too personal – why did you leave Du Weldenvarden in the first place? Was it because of your husband?"

"No…no, I met him after I left." Aedela set pot down on the table with a sigh and seated herself across from Murtagh. "When the war began, I was…in an interesting mindset, you could say. I wasn't very far out of childhood – I don't think I was more than thirty – and at a point in my life where I wasn't content to do nothing but sit around the forest and sing songs. So I joined the army." She glanced up at Murtagh, eyes bright and hard as steel.

"You know, no offense, but…I can't see you as a soldier," he said. He couldn't. She was too clean, too bright, to _pure_ to be spattered with all the blood and muck of interminable conflict…

Aedela grinned swiftly. "All elves are fighters, whether we realize it or not. It's in our blood." She traced a circle around a knot in the wood with one chipped fingernail. "I won't say I enjoyed it, because I didn't, but I don't regret it, either. After all, that was how I met Garth."

"Your husband?" asked Murtagh. Aedela nodded.

"It was at the Battle of Uru'baen…he was fighting three men at once, trying to protect an injured friend…he would have died, too, if I hadn't come to his aid. And from there, well…I don't know. Things just happened. We both kept hanging around Uru'baen, trying to find reasons for staying, until we realized that the reason neither of us wanted to go was each other." Murtagh folded his arms on the table, looked down. He supposed it didn't make sense for him to be jealous of a man twenty years dead, but…his feelings had never made sense anyway. "Eventually when he returned to his hometown, I went with him. Since then…" She shrugged. "I've only moved once, and that was for Lane's sake." Sighing, Aedela met Murtagh's eyes, and he imagined there was a hint of wistfulness behind them. "I can't imagine what returning to Ellesmera would be like."

"You could find out," he offered quietly. "I'm flying up there. I could take you with me."

"Really?" she said faintly. When Murtagh nodded, she swallowed and looked down. "I – I don't know. I'd have to think about it…"

"It doesn't have to be forever." Murtagh couldn't quite explain it, this _wanting_ deep inside him – all he knew was that Aedela didn't deserve to be here and he wasn't ready to say goodbye to her, not just yet. "I can fly you up there and if you don't like it, I can fly you back. And later on, if you change your mind…I'd be happy to fly you home. All you'd have to do is send word."

"Really?" Aedela looked at him with wide eyes, so much softer than she'd been five minutes ago. "You – you'd do that for me?"

It would have been romantic, maybe, if he'd said, "For you I'd do anything," and then taken her hands in his – her fingers, long and slender, would have been roughened by work but no matter, a few months in Ellesmera would restore them – and maybe he might even have kissed her fingers, gently, and in the flickering light of the fire she would have looked at him with something deeper in those moonlit eyes of hers…

But Murtagh didn't say that. Whatever it was that was holding him back – the faint throb of Thorn's mind as he was off hunting, the memories of Nasuada, maybe even just too many years of being alone – whatever it was, it kept him silent. He just nodded instead.

"Well, thanks," said Aedela, with half a smile. "I don't think it's an offer you'd make lightly, and I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," said Murtagh. "And – and whatever your answer is, you don't have to decide right now, either…Thorn and I will leave tomorrow morning, probably after dawn."

"I'll have an answer by then." Aedela stood, gathering up the pot and rag she'd been cleaning it with, and Murtagh stood as well. "Thank you, Murtagh. Truly. It mean a lot."

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. "No problem at all."


	13. Departure

Thorn was unusually quite as Murtagh strapped the saddle on in the clear morning light.

_Something on your mind, buddy?_ Murtagh asked.

Grunting, Thorn shifted his considerable weight. _Are you sure you know what you're doing?_

_ No…but then, I rarely am._ Gritting his teeth, Murtagh cinched a strap tight. _Honestly, Thorn, I'm not thinking too much with this. Just sort of…going by intuition._

_ Intuition can be misleading._ Thorn swung his massive head around to look Murtagh in the eye. _You won't be able to see her every day. You can't. Is that what you want?_

_ I want _someone,_ Thorn, and seeing her a little is better than seeing no one at all. Besides, it's not like this is permanent. We've got decades and decades…for all I know, I could end up living in Ellesmera one day._ He put a hand on the side of Thorn's jaw, rubbing gently under his chin. _I'm aware of the risks, Thorn. I just…I don't know. Figure it's worth it._

Thorn whuffed out a sigh, a faint strain in the back of his throat, and pushed his muzzle against Murtagh's chest. _I just don't want to see you hurt again._

_ I know. I know. But…Thorn, if I never risked it – if I stayed safe my entire life – where would I be?_

_ With me,_ said Thorn. He didn't sound plaintive, just reassuring, and Murtagh smiled.

_And thank the gods for that,_ he said. He gave Thorn one last caress before stepping away. _Reckon Aedela's made up her mind yet?_

_ Hmm._ Thorn raised his head and looked over – there was Aedela, walking towards Murtagh wearing breeches and a headscarf, a pack slung over one shoulder. _I reckon she has._

"Good morning." Murtagh couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face. "I see you've decided."

"That I have," said Aedela, with a hint of a nervous laugh. However apprehensive she might be, it was clear she was still determined, and Murtagh found that more beautiful than any blind confidence –

_Did you just say _beautiful?

_Shut up, Thorn._ "Here, let me take that," said Murtagh, extending a hand for her pack. Aedela swung it off her back and gave it to him; he fed the straps through a loop on the saddle and pulled them tight. "After you, please."

He was prepared to give her a boost into the saddle – Thorn was lying with his stomach flat on the ground – but Aedela climbed up with only the lightest touch on his shoulder, and even then Murtagh suspected it was more a courtesy than to actually steady herself. He swung into the saddle in front of her, bending to buckle the straps around his legs – and check if Aedela needed help with hers. She seemed to be doing fine.

"Ready, then?" he said, twisting around to face her.

Aedela smiled and nodded. "Whenever you two are."

The morning light sparkled on her clear-cut features. Suddenly Murtagh wanted to grin at her and say, "Hold tight," and have her do so because he knew _exactly _how her arms would feel around him –

Thorn pushed to his feet in one massive surge, catching Murtagh completely off guard and throwing him forward. If not for the wards on Thorn's neck spikes, Murtagh probably would have ended up with an impaled forehead. _Thorn!_

But his dragon, incorrigible, was rumbling with amusement, and Aedela was laughing too, a clean, happy sound like water in a brook. "That was smooth," she said.

Murtagh couldn't be irritated with her, not really. "He's much more graceful in the air, promise," he said.

_I should think so, _snorted Thorn. Murtagh grinned and scratched him under his neck scales. _To Ellesmera, then?_

Murtagh looked over his shoulder at Aedela. "To Ellesmera?" he echoed.

She smiled and placed a hand on his waist, light and delicate like a landing moth. "To Ellesmera."


	14. Halfway

They were halfway to Du Weldenvarden when Aedela asked, "So why do you need to go to Ellesmera, anyway?"

Murtagh sighed, wondering how much he should tell her. Did she even know about the Eldunari? Was Mirren's premonition a secret? Should –

_For research,_ said Thorn. _We need to access the archives._

"Oh," said Aedela. Murtagh looked out at the fuzzy line of green on the horizon – the approaching forest. "Research on what?"

_What do we do, Thorn, do we tell her?_

Thorn considered. _Maybe she could help. Hell, maybe she's the one elf who will know exactly what we're talking about._

_That is statistically improb – imposs – highly unlikely._

Thorn snorted. _And we'll both look like idiots if it turns out to be true, won't we?_

_I don't know about me, maybe _you _will… _Murtagh sighed and twisted to look at Aedela. "Does the phrase 'fire is coming' mean anything to you?"

She frowned. "Don't think so…" Her eyes half-closed and he could see her lips form the words silently. "It just sounds…ominous."

"Yes, I believe that's the point. Are there any disasters connected with fire, any great tragedies, legendary fire beasts, anything…?"

"Well…" Aedela shrugged. "Du Fyrn Skulblaka is associated with fire, obviously…God, I hope we don't have a repeat of that…"

_That will not happen,_ said Thorn firmly. _Not as long as there is a single bonded dragon. _

"Oh, Thorn buddy, I hope so, but sometimes sh-t happens –" Too late he realized he'd cursed. "Sorry!"

But Aedela was smirking. "I was in the army, remember? I've heard much, much worse." She reflected for a second. "Said worse, actually."

_There will not be a second Du Fyrn Skulblaka,_ growled Thorn. _Not when there are so few of us left. We bear the scars of two massacres – why would we invite a third?_

"But supposing enough turn against the Riders…enough elves and magicians…" Murtagh tried to picture the war and almost felt sick. "There's plenty of anti-Rider factions as it is…"

"Who told you fire is coming?" demanded Aedela. "Couldn't they have been more specific? Was this all they knew?"

"Yeah, pretty much," admitted Murtagh. "I don't think she knew any more than she told me…"

"She?"

_An elder of my kind. She is ancient…but fading._

"Oh." Sympathy softened Aedela's voice. "I'm sorry to hear that."

_It is the way of things,_ said Thorn placidly. _She has had her time. _

"But then – maybe this 'fire' is something she's familiar with?" said Aedela. "Maybe it's…I don't know…something from the ancient history of the Riders…"

"Exactly," said Murtagh. "And where are their Records? Ellesmera."


	15. Sunset

The script on the faded parchment kept blurring. Murtagh rubbed his stinging eyes, blinked hard, and tried to focus. It wasn't working…

Groaning, he sat up and stretched, cracking his spine over the back of the chair. The sun was setting; rays of sunlight slanted in through the windows and striped the Records room in alternating ruby light and umber shadows. Murtagh liked the Records room – it was exactly what a library should be in his opinion. Rows of bookshelves, gleaming brown wood, dust motes dancing in sunbeams, lamps in the shape of blown-glass flowers…all of it.

Thorn, out with a flight of dragons, touched Murtagh's mind. _You done?_

_Guess so. I can barely read anymore, anyway._ Murtagh scrubbed at his aching eyes again, wishing the stabbing pain in his temple would go away. _Agh…_

_Here. _Thorn started humming mentally, bass and soothing. It helped…a little. _Take a break, Murtagh. Or better yet, stop for the night._

_But…but I haven't found anything!_

_And it's not likely you will. Face it, Murtagh, we're going to have to face whatever's coming unprepared. We'll deal, like we always have. _

_Rrgh…_Murtagh raked his fingers through his hair. _What's the effing point of a premonition then? Goddamn lousy stupid dragons…_

Thorn snorted. _You might want to keep that thought to yourself, especially here._

Murtagh grimaced. _Yeah, probably. Where are you?_

_Couple hours' flight out. _Thorn showed Murtagh a small lake, a half-dozen dragons sprawled on its shores. _Andor is crushing on Cuaroc and he's doing such a good job of hiding it that everyone can see it except the two of them._

Murtagh snorted. _Well, good luck to them. _Sighing, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. _God my head hurts…_

"Any luck?" said a light voice.

Jerking his head up, Murtagh saw Aedela had perched herself on the table – he hadn't even heard her approach. It was the first time he'd seen her since dropping her off yesterday. "Uhh – not – not really –"

She'd traded out her brown homespun dress for a gown of charcoal-gray silk and draped her hair over her shoulder in a ponytail that just brushed her hip. A ray of sunlight highlighted her edges, and Murtagh could have sworn that it wasn't dust motes floating around her, it was…sparkles or something…

_Sparkles? SPARKLES?_

_Goddammit, Thorn…_

"Murtagh?"

"Yeah – yeah, sorry." He rubbed at his eyes. "I've been at this all day…"

"Mm, I can tell…" Aedela started idly leafing through papers.

Looking around, Murtagh only just realized how much of a mess he'd caused. "Oh – oh shoot –" Reaching forward, he started searching through papers, trying to sort them. "Ah, man –"

"Leave it." Aedela brushed his wrist with her fingers. "C'mon. You need to get out of here."

Any protests Murtagh might have had were silenced as he envisioned walking with Aedela along some shady woodland path, and maybe even her cool fingers against his forehead, massaging gently, bleeding away the ache –

"C'mon. Rhunon wants to talk to you."

Ignoring Thorn's sniggering, Murtagh refocused on Aedela. "Oh. Okay. Um – why?"

Aedela shrugged and slipped off the table. "Don't know. But I very much doubt it's about anything but swords."

"Yeah." Groaning, Murtagh stood and stretched – his back was knotted in about fifty different places. _Thorn, my butt's gone numb._

_Oh dear._

"So how – how are you doing?" Murtagh asked as he and Aedela walked towards the staircase. Behind him, a Records keeper swooped over to put in order all the papers he'd left.

"Oh, well enough," said Aedela. "I'm staying with my sister – well, she's not biologically my sister, but we're that close…she missed me, I think."

"Well, that's nice." The spiral staircase was only wide enough for one – Murtagh had to walk behind Aedela and make sure he didn't step on the hem of her dress. "It's good to be missed."

"Yeah." There was a smile in Aedela's voice. "Yeah, it is."

They stepped out onto the terrace into a flood of red-gold sunlight. Murtagh squinted and winced, holding a hand up against the sun. "You'll, uh – have to lead me to Rhunon – I don't remember where she lives…"

Aedela smiled at Murtagh, and in the brilliant sunlight she was dazzling. "Truth be told, neither do I."


	16. Pathways

In the end they had another elf point them in the right direction. Outside the vine-laced tunnel, Aedela paused. "You go on," she said. "I'll wait out here."

Somehow Murtagh had been expecting her to stick with him. "Are – are you sure?"

Smiling, Aedela seated herself on a rock, arranging her skirt. "Go on," she said, nodding her head towards the tunnel. "I'll be fine."

"Okay then…" Murtagh turned and walked through the tunnel – it was blessedly cool and dark – and into the atrium of Rhunon's house.

Here, too, it was dark, the fire little more than smoldering embers. Murtagh turned around, looking for Rhunon, wondering if it would be rude to send up a werelight in somebody else's home. "Hello?"

"About time you turned up," rasped a voice, apparently from the leafy roof. Spinning on his heel, Murtagh tilted his head up. It was pointless – everything was just a dark blurry mass.

"Over here, Shur'turgal," and a soft red werelight sprang into existence. Rhunon was perched on a sort of wicker hammock, arms folded on her knees. "Atra esterni ono thelduin."

"Atra du evarinya ono varda," replied Murtagh, touching his first two fingers to his lips. "I believe you called?"

Rhunon didn't answer, just looked him over. Murtagh got the distinct impression that her eyes were lingering on his belt and he crossed his arms, waiting for her to finish.

"You didn't bring Zar'roc," she said at last.

"No," said Murtagh. "No, I didn't think I needed to."

"Pity. I would have liked to see him again."

"Is that all you brought me here for?"

Once again Rhunon did not respond, though this time her eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance. At last she sighed and looked back down at Murtagh. "How are your students?"

"Well," said Murtagh. "Very well. Have you met any of them when they're here?"

Rhunon made a soft scathing sound of contempt. "I don't think they even know I exist."

"Ah." Murtagh was tempted to make a jab about how she never left her house, but didn't think it was the right time. "Well, I know you like your privacy, so…"

"Time was, every Rider in Alagaesia owed their life to me!" she barked. "Each and every one of them carried a sword of my making, and now…" She spread her hands hopelessly in front of her. "I might as well not exist."

"You can't complain about not making swords when you were the one who banned yourself from making them," said Murtagh, slightly nettled. "Can't you train someone else?"

Rhunon made another sound of disgust, this one more guttural. "No one could do it properly. I studied under Futhark himself, and now…" She sighed, forehead wrinkling. "I tried, you know. We had enough brightsteel left for a few swords…I found an apprentice, entered his mind like I did with Eragon…well, it worked – I made a sword for the urgal and another for the dwarf – but then we were out of brightsteel. I can't make swords without it…not proper Riders' swords…" She sighed and frowned down at Murtagh. "How do your students make do?"

Murtagh shrugged. "Well, they're humans and new Riders, so they don't exactly need super-strong metal…There aren't really any issues."

"Really?" The werelight cast strange shadows on Rhunon's face, deepening the lines and pooling around her eyes. "Even your oldest two?"

"They don't use swords," said Murtagh. "Katya prefers a crossbow. Torrens just uses magic and has a staff for when things get dirty."

"They don't – use swords?" Rhunon's face contorted as if she had never heard such blasphemy, and she dropped down the twelve feet or so to land easily on her feet. "Riders without swords?"

"It's not the only weapon out there," said Murtagh patiently. "And not necessarily the best."

"But a Rider without a sword is preposterous!" snarled Rhunon, stalking around the forge. "How can he fight in close quarters? What does he do when his magic runs dry? What about his _image_?"

"Most Riders can maintain an impressive image without having a phallic symbol strapped to their belt," said Murtagh, raising an eyebrow.

"Do your students even _know_ how to use a sword?"

"They're all taught swordplay, yes. But we also teach them archery, and how to fight with a staff. And we teach them magic and literature and science and art. A Rider is more than a rampaging warrior, Rhunon, and they have the right to choose their weapons."

"Eragon –"

"Eragon was a warrior because that was what Alagaesia needed."

"And you're not? Don't tell me you haven't enjoyed all the blood you've shed, _Morzanson._"

Something hot and dark coiled inside Murtagh. Far away, Thorn growled.

"I don't deny it," said Murtagh quietly. "And I won't pretend that I've conquered it either. But these next Riders are already far better men and women than I will ever be."

Rhunon didn't growl, didn't rage, didn't glare. She just looked at Murtagh, impassive.

"To think," she said at last. "Morzan's boy, the pet of Galbatorix, leading a new generation of Riders."

Only by holding very, very still could Murtagh not show how hard each epithet hit him in the gut. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said. "Tell me, how can I make the situation better?"

This time Rhunon did glare, out of the side of her eye as she turned her back on him. "Do not be sarcastic with me, Shur'turgal," she said. "It doesn't help."

"Oh, does it not help?" said Murtagh, eyebrows raised. "I'm _so _sorry. What can I ever do to make amends?"

"Leave, Shur'turgal."

"No, really, if there's anything I can do –"

"I said _leave!_" And she extinguished the werelight.

Murtagh sighed and waited for his eyes to adjust. _You caught all that, Thorn?_

_Of course. It appears you've upset her. How distressing._

_Yeah, I'm really torn up about it._ Murtagh located the exit and started walking out. _How's the lake? _

_Losing its appeal. Firnen's making passes at Kaifala, Narmel and Sirnor have long since disappeared, and I think Cuaroc's finally figuring out what's up with Andor._

_Firnen's hitting on Kaifala? But I thought he and Faarheim –_

_It's an open relationship. _

_Oh. _Murtagh could see the opening of the tunnel – he paused so he could finish his conversation with Thorn without any distractions. _Hey, look, Thorn, you'll find someone –_

_It's okay, Murtagh. _Thorn sounded quietly resigned. _I think I'm getting used to the fact that I'll never have a partner._

Murtagh's ribs tightened with pity. _No, Thorn, I'm sure –_

_Please don't feel sorry for me,_ cut across Thorn. Firmly. _I'm done with feeling sorry. I can't get what I want by wallowing in self-pity. It's better for both of us if we just move on._

_I…okay. If that's what you want._

_If it isn't, it should be._

Out of respect for Thorn, Murtagh bit back the instinctive words of comfort. _Are you coming back now?_

_In a little while. I want to do some flying. _

_Hey. Love you, bud._

There was a smile in Thorn's voice. _Love you too._

_Heh._ With a sigh, Murtagh pulled back to the present, automatically running a hand through his hair. Aedela was waiting for him, he remembered, and he walked out of the tunnel.

She was still seated at the entrance, but now held a small white flower in the palm of her hand. "I was trying to sing to it," she said, running a finger along its petals. "But nothing really happened. I'm probably just out of practice." She looked up at Murtagh, and he was inexplicably relieved to see she was smiling. "Or maybe I just wasn't singing loud enough."

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it," he said, holding out his hand. "And soon, too."

"Thank you," said Aedela, standing. Once again, she touched his hand out of courtesy only. "Where are you going now?"

Murtagh shrugged. He didn't have anywhere to be, not until Thorn returned, anyway. "What about you?"

"Back to my sisters' house, I think," said Aedela.

She was lovely, far prettier than any flower. And Murtagh didn't want to say goodbye just yet. "Can I walk you back?"

Aedela smiled. "I'm not going to get attacked."

"I know, but –" Frustrated, Murtagh ran a hand through his hair, not sure if he was ready to put his feelings into words.

"I'm only teasing," said Aedela gently. "Of course you can." She smiled again, softer. "I'd like it."

"Oh – okay, then." Murtagh managed to hide the sudden lightness that burst in his chest. "Which way?"

"This path, I think." Together, they started walking through the sun had sunk beneath the level of the tree tops now, casting everything in twilight. Swarms of fireflies danced like stars in between the tree trunks. "Anyway, what did Rhunon want?"

"Not sure, actually. I think she's pissed that no one's asking her for swords though."

"Tch. She shouldn't have made that oath then."

"Oaths can be broken." For a moment Murtagh was back, crouched in Galbatorix's throne room, the hole Eragon had stabbed through him burning like hellfire, and the weight of a thousand years was falling off him as he realized what it was to truly change. "Not easily, I know, but still…"

"That's the thing about humans," said Aedela. "You change. For an elf to change their true name…it's practically unheard of." Laughing slightly, she kicked a rock down the path. "We don't adapt very well."

"You managed to adapt."

"Yeah, well…" Aedela shrugged. "I did what I had to. It wasn't about me then, you know? It was about Garth, and then Lane."

"Having someone else does help," agreed Murtagh. He could still remember Nasuada, in all her strength and beauty…

She's dead, he realized. She's been dead for forty years.

_Oh,_ thought Murtagh, and even though this was the thousandth time he'd told himself this it still seemed like a fresh revelation. _Forty years? It can't have been…no…it hasn't been that long…_

"Who did you lose?" asked Aedela quietly.

Murtagh stared down at her in surprise. "I didn't lose anyone," he said automatically.

"I know that look, Murtagh," said Aedela. Under the wry twist to her voice, there was open sympathy and sincerity. "I've worn it far too many times myself. It's that look you get when you lose someone you never thought you could live without, and then one day you realize it's been twenty years and you're going along just fine…"

And it hit Murtagh, hit him like a charging dragon, that of all the people he'd met it was Aedela who could understand better than any other. Maybe not the whole of it – she hadn't had to watch her Garth marry another and have a family and grow old – but enough. More than anyone should.

"Yeah, it's…it's a strange feeling," he said.

Aedela didn't say anything. But she slipped her hand in Murtagh's, and tightened her fingers on his, and for a long time there was nothing to be said at all.


	17. I Can't

Once again, the Eldunari dreamspace had changed. And this time Murtagh knew exactly what the difference was. It was just the tiniest bit grayer, the edges that much fuzzier…the world just a little less substantial…

_Mirren? _

Groaning, she raised her head from the grass. Her scales were most definitely paler…

_Jesus Christ, Mirren._ Murtagh ran over, knelt beside her and put a hand on her neck. She felt…slippery, somehow. As if he couldn't quite touch her.

_It's harder,_ she said. _Harder to reach you here. You're so far away…_

_Then don't,_ said Murtagh, rubbing a thumb under one giant scale. _Save your strength –_

_I had to speak to you._

Murtagh swallowed hard. _Why?_

_Murtagh, Murtagh, child… _Mirren looked at him sadly. _Why do you waste your time in the past? You should be looking to the future…_

_But – but you said –_

_Fire is _coming, _Murtagh. Not fire has come. You should be – aaahh…_ Mirren let her head fall back to the ground, and Murtagh swore she flickered out of existence for a second –

_Mirren!_

_I'm all right,_ she said, but she sounded far more weary than a dragon ever should. _Murtagh, fire is coming, and it starts in your time. There are no legends, no histories…not yet. This is a new thing…it has only just begun. _

_Begun where? _Murtagh, crouched by her head, could feel himself shaking. _Mirren – please –_

_I wish I knew more, my child, I really do… _she said, forlorn. Murtagh swallowed and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against her scales. _But it's hard…so hard for me to see…_

_It'll be okay,_ he muttered, half to her, half to himself. _It'll turn out all right. _

_That depends on you…_

And then everything faded to black, and Murtagh woke in his room in Ellesmera with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_Murtagh?_ said Thorn. Looking over, Murtagh saw Thorn curled in his corner, a faint light like dying embers in his eyes. _Are you all right?_

Sitting up, Murtagh ran a shaky hand through his hair. _It's Mirren, Thorn. She…oh, Jesus Christ…_

Thorn extended his neck and swung his head over to Murtagh. Sighing, Murtagh placed a hand between Thorn's nostrils. _She's fading, Thorn. She's getting worse. And then…this fire…_ Murtagh swallowed hard again. _She says it's something new? It's something coming to us now, and it's up to me to stop it…_

_It'll be all right,_ said Thorn.

_I can't, Thorn, I can't, I don't know how, what if I do something wrong –_

_Shhh –_

_I can't, I can't, I can't –_

_Murtagh,_ said Thorn gently. _It'll be all right. _

Taking a deep breath, Murtagh closed his eyes and tried to slow the panicky breaths rising in his lungs. Not until he noticed his shaking hands and thudding heart did he realize he was afraid.

_I just – I don't know what to do, Thorn,_ he admitted. _Something bad is coming and it's up to me to stop it but what if I do something _wrong…

Thorn pushed his head against Murtagh, warm and comforting. _I have faith in you, my Rider. If you don't trust yourself, trust me…and how I think of you._

Murtagh let out a long, shaky sigh. _If anything happens to you I'll never forgive myself. Not in a hundred million years._

_Nothing will happen. To either of us._

_You can't know that._

Thorn chuckled, a deep rumble that resonated through the entire room. _Go back to sleep, Murtagh. I'm right here._

And eventually Murtagh, lying in Thorn's assurance, slipped into an unwilling sleep.


	18. Future Plans

About an hour's flight north of Ellesmera, the land rose up into a small plateau on level with the tree tops. Whether by nature or design it was unforested, carpeted instead in springy green-gold grass, and in the middle rose a crag of rock. From here bubbled a spring that pooled at the crag's feet and overflowed into a thousand tiny rivulets that meandered through the grass until the ground soaked them up.

Murtagh, sprawled on the ground, looked up at Aedela. She'd perched herself on one of the slabs of rock ringing the pool and was weaving a basket out of reeds. Murtagh watched with a sort of lazy fascination as her fingers, tinted rosy by the setting sun, plaited the reeds in and out.

It was extremely comfortable, lying on the grass with the sun warming him. Murtagh could feel his eyes closing (and honestly, he didn't much mind falling asleep) when Aedela finally spoke.

"Have you found anything yet? About the fire?"

Murtagh sighed, propping himself up on his elbows. "I got word again…a couple nights ago…this isn't in any Records. Nothing like this has happened before. There's nothing _to_ find."

"Oh." The reeds in Aedela's fingers whispered as they slipped over each other. "Will you be going back to the Academy then?"

"I suppose." Murtagh fiddled with a piece of grass. "Yeah, I suppose I really should…" He sighed.

"When?"

"Soon, I guess. I have three junior Riders, I can't really justify staying away very long…" Tapping his fingers on the ground, Murtagh looked out at where the sun was gilding the tops of the trees. It would be good to return, he realized…beautiful as Ellesmera was, it just wasn't for him. The Academy was home. "And what – what about you?"

"I'm staying here," said Aedela.

"Ah." A chunk of Murtagh's world was falling through – quite a big one. He took a deep breath and tried to speak normally. "Right."

"It's just – I love it here," said Aedela. "I hadn't realized how much I missed it until…until I came back." She turned her head, and Murtagh saw she was gazing over the forest with a rapt expression. "Maybe in a while I'll tire of it again, but for now…it's where I belong."

He couldn't deny her that. No matter how much he wanted her beside him, Murtagh couldn't deny her what made her happy. _You wanted this, though,_ he reminded himself. _Remember? You brought her back here because you didn't think she was right in your world._ But he didn't feel any better; instead he only added self-deprecation to the tangle of feelings he was trying to unpick. The silence, softened by birdsong and the ripple of water and the brush of reeds against reeds stretched on, and Murtagh felt sure that Aedela was waiting for him to speak, but for the life of him he didn't know what to say…

At last he settled on the one thing he was sure about. "I'll miss you," he said quietly.

The low rasp of weaving stopped. Murtagh looked up again and saw that Aedela was sitting straight up, her hands lying still on top of the wet half-finished basket in her lap. She was looking ahead of her; all Murtagh could see was the back of her head and her ear and a bit of her face.

Once again, no one spoke; Murtagh could feel the heat soaking through him and smell the fresh grass and Aedela's foot touched earth so close to his hand…he could reach up, brush his fingers along her ankle, let them linger on the silky smoothness of her skin…

"Yeah," said Aedela, so softly he barely heard her, and she started weaving again.

Murtagh closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the grass. _It's okay,_ he said. _So she doesn't feel the same. That's fine. You'll live – _

"I'll miss you, too," said Aedela.

Something full and happy started to well up inside Murtagh's chest. "Really?"

"Yeah." Aedela turned to look at him, hair swinging over one shoulder, expression somewhere between hesitancy and surety. "I think I will."

"Good," said Murtagh. "I mean, not good, but… You know, I don't have to leave just yet…"

Aedela smiled a little, hair lit from behind by the setting sun. "I'd like that."


	19. Rubies and Starlight

Eyes on his reflection in the mirror, Murtagh ran the wet comb through his hair, forcing the tangled brown strands to form some semblance of order. Normally he would just pull his hair back in a ponytail and call it done, but tonight it was suddenly of vital importance that he look his best.

Thorn, outside somewhere, chuckled in Murtagh's mind. _Finished yet?_

_Nearly. Where are you?_

_Up top. _The elven version of the Academy allocated a large treehouse for each dragon-Rider pair; there were, of course, several vacant ones for visitors like Murtagh and Thorn. Despite the apparent flimsiness of the dwelling, it was strong enough to support a thirty-ton dragon lying on its roof.

_Any plans for tonight?_

_Not sure. I think I might visit the Stone of Broken Eggs – I've been meaning to do that for a while._

_Sounds good. If you get into trouble, just give me a shout…_

_Will do._ Thorn's mental tone was the equivalent of a cheeky wink. _But won't you be busy?_

_Thorn!_ Caught between defending Aedela's honor and imagining how he might indeed be occupied, Murtagh was unable to manage more than a garbled remonstrance.

_I'm only teasing. _There was a violent creaking of wood and the room swayed alarmingly, then Thorn snaked his head in through the window. _Let me see._

Obediently, Murtagh stepped away from the mirror and into Thorn's field of view, arms held out at his sides. Thorn surveyed Murtagh from head to foot, scrutinizing the effect of a white shirt, maroon vest, and black pants and boots. _All right?_

_You look good, man. _Thorn blew a puff of hot air at Murtagh, wafting his hair out of place. Murtagh grimaced and smoothed his hair down again. _No, really._

_Thanks. _Murtagh looked out of the room, to where he could see across the atrium and into the dining room, at the table set for two. _Ahahaha, what the hell am I even doing…_

_Whatever it is you stupid humans do,_ said Thorn fondly, attempting to nudge Murtagh in the shoulder and instead knocking him off balance. _Whoops. _

_You did that on purpose._ Murtagh put a hand on Thorn's nose and attempted to push him away, but Thorn wouldn't budge. Instead, the dragon pushed back into his hand and nearly shoved Murtagh over.

_Hey, good luck tonight,_ said Thorn softly, looking Murtagh right in the eyes. _I know this means a lot to you. _

_Thanks,_ responded Murtagh, rubbing a thumb gently over the scales on Thorn's nose. _And that means a lot, too._

_No problem. _Thorn touched his muzzle to Murtagh's forehead, and this time Murtagh was in no danger of being pushed at all. They stayed there for a moment, and then Thorn sighed and pulled away. _She'll be here soon, right?_

_Yeah, I said sunset…_ Murtagh glanced out the window, where the setting sun was dyeing everything the color of rubies. _Anyway, yeah, I guess I'll, uh…let you know how things go…_

_I expect you to._ Thorn nudged Murtagh once more and then withdrew, subjecting the treehouse again to rocking and groaning. _All right, I'm out. _The tree swayed horrendously, nearly throwing Murtagh to the floor, as Thorn took off.

_Have fun,_ said Murtagh.

Thorn swooped past the window, reflecting bloody sparkles into the room. _You too,_ he said, and then he banked the other way and flew away over the treetops. Within seconds he looked like little more than a bird.

Exhaling, Murtagh turned away from the window and walked into the little dining room. Everything looked all right…absentmindedly, he straightened a fork. If this had been a dinner he'd been hosting in Uru'baen, the place settings would have been crystal and silver, the room lit by a chandelier of staggering proportions, and the table nearly hidden by dishes of food and vases overflowing with hothouse flowers… But this was Ellesmera, and the plates were made of wood, globes of light would provide illumination once the sun set, and the only decoration among the platters of breads and greens was a slender vase containing a few lilies.

For a fleeting second, Murtagh wished it was more like Uru'baen, that he could be more like his old confident self who had romanced ladies without a second thought. Then he felt disgusted with himself. His old confident self had been a womanizer and a rake and of the many things he'd done that he regretted that was near the top of the list.

He supposed it was odd, in a way, that in his mind seducing women – many of whom had been equally willing to be seduced and looking for just as little commitment as he was – was as unforgivable an offense as killing Hrothgar, or Oromis, or –

There was a light tap in the foyer. "H-hello?" called Aedela.

Murtagh smoothed his hair one last time, tugged on his vest to make sure it was straight, and stepped out of the room. The cheery-but-casual greeting he'd been intending to give died in his throat.

Aedela was wearing a gown of some silky material that was olive green in shadow but shimmered golden in the sun; it was sleeveless, so to compensate she'd wrapped a shawl around herself but it was so gauzy and fine that her pearly skin shone through anyway. Her hair was down for the first time in Murtagh's memory, a silver waterfall that streamed past her waist, and she'd tucked a small white flower behind one ear. She would have been breathtaking in any setting, but with the red-gold sun pouring in, glowing on her skin, gleaming on her eyes and hair…her beauty made his chest hurt.

"Hi," said Aedela.

"Hi," repeated Murtagh breathlessly.

And then Aedela laughed, this beautiful carefree bubbling sound, and somehow it broke the tension and it was the easiest thing in the world for Murtagh to smile and walk over and take her hand. He didn't quite kiss it, but all the same the feel of her fingers against his put a warm shiver in his stomach.

"I'm glad you came," he said.

Aedela smiled and squeezed his fingers. "I'm glad you invited me." She looked around and added, "So this is your nest?"

"Well, temporary one, yeah…here, let me show you around." And he did, taking her up to the roof (and showing her all the scratches Thorn had gouged in the wood) and his room and even walking a bit on the bridge that connected it to the other houses. And then they returned to the dining room, and somehow over dinner the conversation turned to –

"Was it hard, adjusting?" asked Aedela. "After the war."

Murtagh shrugged, taking the time to get the right words. "I did not do a…spectacular job of adjusting." He swallowed a mouthful of wine and set his glass down. "The war ended with me in a really bad place, and I made what was probably the least healthy decision I could."

"Tell me," said Aedela softly.

It was evident she cared. Sighing, Murtagh pushed his fork onto his plate, getting his thoughts in order. "When Galbatorix died…I'd only just been freed from his control…and I hated myself. Hated myself for what I'd done, all the hurt I'd caused…and in my mind, I was only capable of causing more…so we left, Thorn and I. We left all civilization and spent a year and some months in wilderness south of Du Weldenvarden…"

He looked up and saw Aedela was looking at him with quiet compassion. "And I'm guessing that didn't help," she said.

"No, it didn't," said Murtagh with a short bitter laugh. "No, it didn't help at all…if Thorn hadn't been around to watch over me, I'd be dead." He met Aedela's eyes. "And I mean that quite literally."

She sucked in a short breath, and her eyebrows tilted up in sympathy. "Not…you don't…"

Pushing back his sleeves, Murtagh held his hands out, palm up, so Aedela could see the faint ridges that still scarred his wrists. "One night, Thorn was out hunting, and I decided it'd be better for both of us if I just…took myself out of the picture…"

"Oh, no," breathed Aedela.

"Luckily Thorn realized what I was doing in time and knocked me out mentally…by the time I woke up, he'd healed my wounds, hidden Zar'roc, and vowed never to leave me alone again – Aedela?"

For her eyes had suddenly filled up with tears. "Oh my God…"

"It's all right, I'm fine now!" he hastened to assure her, taking her hands. "Really, Aedela…"

"I know…" she said, freeing one of her hands to wipe her eyes. Murtagh held her other hand comfortingly in both of his. "It's just…Oh, Murtagh…"

"That was nearly a hundred years ago," he said soothingly. "Trust me, Aedela, I've come a long way since then. I'm fine."

"I – I know." Aedela attempted a smile. "It's just – a bit of a shock, that's all…"

"Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "And I'm – I'm touched that you care…"

"Care? Of course I do…how could I not –" Aedela caught herself, pale pink tingeing her cheeks, and Murtagh felt hope press against his sternum like a tight little bubble.

But Aedela still looked self-conscious, and he knew better than to push it, better than force things…so he let go of her hand (allowing his fingers to linger against her skin for a moment) and took another sip of the mellow white wine.

After a couple seconds Aedela resumed conversation, and though part of Murtagh was attending to her words, the other part noticed the porcelain line of her jaw, the subtle curve of her lower lip, how he would very much like to kiss it…

It was until she was about to leave that he seized his chance.

Night had fallen, the stars were out in full force, and Murtagh had walked Aedela down to the foot of the stairs. It was cooler now, and she wrapped her gauzy shawl closer around her.

"So…so, you'll be leaving tomorrow, then?" she asked.

Murtagh nodded. "First light. I'd like to be home by tomorrow afternoon, if possible…"

"I'll see if I can come and…see you off…" said Aedela. There was starlight dancing on her hair and in her eyes. "Say goodbye…"

"Thanks," said Murtagh. And then it hit him, that that'd be the last time he'd see her for a while, and maybe it was the wine he'd drunk but that pierced right through him like a shard of glass –

"Murtagh?"

And he couldn't help it. He cupped one hand under her chin and leaned in and _kissed_ her and for a second she was stiff with surprise, but then she melted against him and kissed him back and her arms were around his waist and heat was rippling down his shoulders and he felt alive and he felt _good…_

Aedela broke it, pulling away with a little sound in the back of her throat. Murtagh hugged her closer, touching his lips to her forehead and then she tipped her forehead against his collarbone and for a long, long time they stood there, together in the cool starlight.


	20. An Ancient Farewell

Murtagh had never realized that you could be lonely for just one person.

It was like there was a rope tied to his heart, a rope of fine silver thread. And it was a really long rope, so long he couldn't see the other end. But _something_ was pulling it, pulling the rope so that it tugged at his heart too…

He didn't know what he'd do if they hadn't managed to set up a pair of enchanted mirrors, but it still wasn't the same, wasn't enough…so when he opened his eyes during sleep and saw sunlight and flowers his first thought was to cry _Aedela, I missed you…_

But this was Mirren's world, he realized. And no longer faded, so that for a split second he felt hope blossom inside him – and then he saw Mirren herself, and everything inside him turned sick and cold with dread.

She was pale, translucent, the drifting clouds visible through the mountain of her back, and when she saw Murtagh she could barely lift her head off the ground. _Murtagh…child…_

_ It's okay, I'm here,_ he said, hurrying over to her and throwing himself on his knees by her head. _It's all right…_

_ It's not. _Mirren looked at him with one great sad eye. _I'm going, Murtagh…_

A lump rose in Murtagh's throat and he blinked rapidly against sudden tears. _No, you're not._ He put a hand on her cheek. _You're not going anywhere…you can't…_

_ I've got to –_ and her voice shook, it honest to God _shook_ in fear, and Murtagh felt numb tingly panic sweep over him for a second. _I've got to, but – but I don't want to –_

_ It's okay, _he said again. Meaningless words, but what else could he do. _It's all right. I'm here._

_ Someone's holding this world, though,_ said Mirren, lifting her shaking head. _Someone's helping me stay…_

_ Can – can that happen? I mean, this is your world, isn't it – your mind –_

_ Dragon magic does strange things sometimes,_ said Thorn.

Murtagh whipped around. There was Thorn walking towards them, his scales gleaming like blood and wine and rubies. Coming up behind Murtagh, he pressed his muzzle to Murtagh's cheek. _Hey, man._

_ Hey._ Murtagh reached up and ran a hand along the side of Thorn's jaw. _Are you – are you doing this?_

_ Not by myself._ Pulling away from Murtagh, Thorn leaned over and touched his nose to Mirren's. _Greetings, eldest._

_ Greetings,_ she managed. _Are there…are there others?_

_ They're coming now,_ said Thorn.

Murtagh looked around and could feel his eyes widen in surprise.

Dragons were walking in, dragons of every size and color…he recognized those from the Academy, Narada and Ampora, Tagen, Bedella, Sonorm, Jin…and others, dragons of previous students…but there were also dragons completely unfamiliar to him, though he thought he saw Firnen and the brown urgal dragon…

_What is…what is this? _asked Mirren.

_They've all come to say goodbye,_ said Thorn, looking over his shoulder at the approaching dragons. _I don't think any dragon has quite had a sendoff like this since the olden days. _

One by one, the dragons came forward. Some only touched noses with Mirren, others curled up against her sides…Murtagh, sitting next to her head with Thorn lying beside him, felt small and sad and out of place but more than anything he just didn't want her to die…

Mirren was starting to visibly tremble now, the color in her scales rippling. _Murtagh…_ she gasped, _Murtagh please…fire is coming…it's rushing down the path, roaring down the lane…_

_ We know, Mirren,_ said a dark blue dragoness, touching the side of her face to Mirren's. _We know. Dragonkind will spread the word. _

But Mirren ignored her. _Murtagh…please…_

_It's all right,_ he assured her, stroking the ridge under her eye comfortingly. _Don't worry, Mirren. I'll take care of it. It'll be fine._

He could see the blades of grass through her jaw.

_I don't want to go…_

Something caught at Murtagh's heart and sucked the air out of his lungs and he could feel tears stinging his eyes. _Shh,_ he said, taking a deep breath. _Shh, it's…it's okay…_

Behind him, Thorn started humming, the same soothing bass he used with Murtagh. But this time, it had melody, rhythm, a real tune…

Another dragon joined in, her voice higher, clearer. A third started humming, weaving in between the two harmonies. And soon all the dragons, at least three dozen of them, were singing together, voices joined in what might have been a lullaby if it hadn't been for the wilder strains in it that stirred the blood and made Murtagh think of endless flight…

Mirren could no longer lift her head, but Murtagh saw her eyes move, and crystal wetness began to pool in them. _It's all right, Mirren, _he said. The dragonsong vibrated through him, calmed him, lifted his mind up. _They're singing you to your sleep._

A tiny exhale slipped out of her, and her eyes closed…Murtagh stroked her scales again even though they felt like silk under his fingers, they felt like…nothing…

She was gone.

A lemon-yellow dragon rose on her hind legs and started a thin, howling keening that bled right through Murtagh. His vision seemed to be fading, or perhaps it was the world itself…growing dim and grayish-black…

With a gasp, Murtagh sat up in bed, pulse suddenly throbbing. Automatically he looked across the room at Thorn, whose eyes were open, and glowing.

There was one confused breathless moment where they both stared at each other, and then Murtagh launched himself out of bed and out of his room, hurtling down the darkened stairs until into his house's atrium (thank heaven he was finally getting his night vision). He went straight to the carved wooden panel in the back wall and pressed his hand against the top right corner and the panel slid back and there was the secret cupboard with five locked chests each on their own shelf –

Murtagh's hands were shaking so much he could barely unlatch the largest one. But he managed, and flipped the lid open, and…

It was dark. The Eldunari within, Mirren's Eldunari, was nothing more than a dark colorless crystal.

_Oh. _For a moment, it was all Murtagh could think. There was nothing inside him except a horrible, echoing sadness…

_She's gone,_ said Thorn. There was an almost childlike plaintiveness to his tone. _I didn't think I'd be sad, but I am…_

_ That's the first dragon death since Shruikan, isn't it,_ said Murtagh. He had one hand propped against the shelf, bracing him. He still…couldn't quite…

_Every dragon knows,_ said Thorn, and now his voice was ancient in its grief. _We all felt it…_

A spine-tingling keen rose up outside, faint and high. Murtagh felt his breath catch. _Who…who is that…_

_ Kadi,_ said Thorn gently. _She was his dam…_

_ Oh. Should – should we…_

_ He has Lane,_ said Thorn. _He will be fine. _

_ I didn't even think…oh, man… _Suddenly Murtagh felt very, very tired. _Thorn…_

_ Come here, _said Thorn, and there was such a promise of warmth and love and being safe that Murtagh couldn't have resisted if he wanted, he just went straight upstairs and curled up against Thorn's neck and closed his eyes.

_Thorn…you're sad, too…_

_ Yes, I am._ Thorn let out a warm breath and shifted his head on the floor. _But I can live with this sadness._

_ Hey, if you say so, bud… _Murtagh ran a hand over the scales under Thorn's eye. _But I'm here for you, you know that?_

_ I know. _Thorn closed his eyes and folded a wing protectively over Murtagh. _I have known that since the beginning. _


	21. Resting Place

And suddenly they were faced with a dilemma – what to do with a dead Eldunari? There was talk of returning it – _her_ – to Vroengard, but to Murtagh it just seemed wrong, making the final resting place of someone so bright and alive a ruined, poisoned city…

In the end, it was the dragons who decided the matter. _Every ending is a new beginning,_ they said. _All flows in a circle. Bring her to her beginning, to the Stone of Broken Eggs. _

And so Murtagh and Thorn returned to Ellesmera.


	22. Absolution

"I can't imagine what that must have been like," said Aedela quietly.

She and Murtagh were seated on the roof, legs dangling off the edge, gazing over the moonlit forest. It was a warm night, with barely any breeze – the fireflies were out in full force. Now and then a moth, as big as Murtagh's handspan and glowing like the harvest moon, would flutter by.

Sighing, Murtagh tucked Aedela closer against his side. "It was…incredible. Sad, but…incredible."

"It must have been." Her fingers ran lightly up and down his ribs. "I didn't know dragons sang…"

"Me, neither. Well, Thorn hums a lot, but I never expected actual _song…_"

"Mmm." Aedela settled herself against him, snaking one arm around his waist. "I tell you what, though…I'm glad you're here…"

For an answer, Murtagh kissed her, sliding a hand under her jaw, letting himself melt into her. Aedela responded with fervor, hand sliding up his chest, and her body rippled against his and…_hngh. _

"Do you ever wonder," said Aedela, a little breathlessly, once she'd finally pulled away, "how differently your life might have turned out?"

"I used to," said Murtagh. "But it never got me very far." He looked down at Aedela, at her wide eyes filled with starlight, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides. I like where I am now."

"But I've learned about your past, Murtagh, before Galbatorix," said Aedela softly. "I've learned about your mother, and the decision she made…it doesn't bother you? That you could have been in Eragon's place?"

"Once upon a time, it did," he admitted. "I used to curse him, call him a 'fool favored by fortune'…but now…who's to say I didn't end up with the better fortune after all?"

"But still, imagine…my God…" she breathed. "You could have been magnificent…"

He couldn't argue with her, Murtagh found. Not when she looked up at him like that, not when she kissed him with all the considerable force in her slight body, not when her hands slid farther and farther down his stomach until –

Murtagh made an extremely undignified noise in the back of his throat and jerked back to stare at Aedela, sudden heat rushing through him. Undaunted, Aedela leaned forward, chest brushing his, and looked up at him from half-lidded eyes. "It's been a long time, hasn't it, Dragon Rider?" she whispered.

He swallowed, managed to say, "Too long."

Aedela's mouth twisted wryly. "Me, too," she admitted.

And then they were both kissing each other in a heady breathless rush and Murtagh felt like a live coal and Aedela was all quicksilver and eldritch heat. Her hands were trembling as they rubbed against his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and he curved his hands around her shoulderblades and trailed his lips down her jawbone to her neck…

"Wait," gasped Aedela. "Do we really want to be doing this on the roof?"

Murtagh didn't want to be reasonable, but she had a point… "Right."

Aedela stood with a hand knotted in Murtagh's neck scarf, yanking him to his feet and his lips right against hers. On their way down the stairs, Aedela kissed him with enough fervor that he nearly fell backwards off the step.

By the time they got to the door of his bedroom his vest was on the floor and his shirt untucked and undone and her dress had been pushed off her shoulders. Murtagh pressed his burning face into the rosemary-coolness of her skin, kissed her collarbone, and the hand that she raked down his spine made him shiver.

He lifted his head, kissed her again hot and trembling, as her hands explored his back, traced the outlines of his scar…

But Aedela didn't flinch, didn't falter, didn't pull away, and suddenly Murtagh loved her _intensely_, loved her so much that everything hurt, he was going to explode from the wanting, and sometime in between her shedding her dress like a butterfly's chrysalis and him realizing he was making hungry little sounds in the back of his throat, their minds touched…

And this time there were no walls, no shying away, no cautious touches. Murtagh let her slip in and around him, silken threads of silver and gold and green, and he pushed gently into her mind, thirsty for her, drinking her in, conscious of two worlds at once, of ragged breathing and bare skin against skin, of the haunting beauty of her mind twined with his, turning everything into rays of light…

And then, later – much later – when he'd traced languid spirals on the soft skin of her stomach and she brushed a kiss on him that tasted like stardust and lilac petals, when she'd pulled him closer and started to breathe out the lilting melody of some elvish song, he drifted off to sleep…and in his sleep, he dreamed of silver eyes…eyes like fire, and hair like rain.


	23. Premonition

Murtagh awoke, cool and light and very, very relaxed…through closed eyelids he could tell there was sunlight streaming in…he could smell rain-washed herbs and feel the silky brush of skin…

Inhaling slowly, he opened his eyes.

Aedela was asleep, her back to him, the light shining on the smooth curve of her shoulder, silver hair spun all around her. Murtagh teased a couple of strands out from under his arm, trailed fingers up her side, kissed the tip of her shoulderblade…

She made a tiny noise, shifting restlessly. Smoothing the rest of her hair out of the way, Murtagh raised himself on an elbow and ran a finger down the back of her shoulder, leaning in to kiss the tip of one pointed ear…she was exquisite like starshine and –

Aedela stirred again, and this time the high thin sound she made was almost a whimper. Murtagh hadn't realized elves had nightmares – as far as he knew, they barely slept – but something was distressing her all the same.

"Shhh, it's all right," he murmured, rubbing her back soothingly. But she shivered, pulling her knees in towards her chest. "It's all right, love, I'm here."

For a second, he thought he'd calmed her, but then she twitched with a sharp intake of breath, spine tensing. Murtagh planted a kiss on the back of her neck, chafed a hand comfortingly up and down her arm and then she _mewled,_ let out this high-pitched terrible pathetic little sound, and without a thought he pulled her against him, cradling her, pushing the hair off her face. "Aedela – Aedela, love – wake up –"

She did so with a gasp, eyes wide with terror for a split second, and then as she recognized him a profound sigh melted through her and she slumped back against the pillows.

"Aedela?" Murtagh brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, her lower lip. "Bad dream?"

She nodded, and then grabbed his hand and kissed his palm impulsively. Murtagh felt his throat tighten and the beginnings of worry flutter in his stomach as she leaned her face into his hand, eyes closed, and sighed again.

"Want to tell me about it?" he asked quietly.

Eyes open, Aedela stared past his hand and out the window. Then with a sigh, she rolled onto her back so she was looking up at him. "I had a…a premonition." Her voice was quiet, still rough with sleep.

The worry in his stomach fluttered more insistently. "Are you sure?"

She bit her lip but nodded. "I know what dreams are, and this…this felt different. Inevitable, somehow."

The contours of her face fitted almost exactly to his hand. "What was it about?"

She swallowed. "Fire, Murtagh," she whispered. "There was…all this fire…"

Something very cold and heavy slipped into the pit of his stomach. "Fire?" he croaked.

"Just like you said." He could see everything about her, every follicle and pore and the little lines in her irises, and the only thing that trembled was her eyelashes. "Just like you said was predicted…there was all this fire, and, and, everything was consumed…you, me, Lane…"

For the first time, she looked lost. Sighing, Murtagh closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead. "That doesn't mean it's set," he whispered. "I won't let that happen, I swear…"

He leaned his forehead against hers, and for a long time they did nothing more than listen to the sounds of each other's breathing.

Finally Aedela moved, gently pushing Murtagh out of the way. "I'm going to go wash off," she said, getting out of bed, and for a second Murtagh forgot about fires, about premonitions, about everything as she stood unclothed and flawless in the sunlight. Then she blew him a kiss and left.

Murtagh slumped back against the pillows, rubbing his face. Gradually he became aware of a teasing tendril of thought, tapping against the edges of his consciousness. _Thorn?_

_Are you, uh, occupied?_

_Not at the moment, no. _Murtagh stretched, trying to dispel tension through taut muscles and tendons. It worked…sort of. _But it looks like we don't need Mirren to get warnings about the fire._

Instantly Thorn's attention was razor-sharp. _Who, then?  
>Aedela. She had a premonition… <em>Murtagh sighed, drummed his heels on the mattress, stared up at the ceiling. _She said there was all this fire, burning everything…she mentioned me, and her, and Lane…_

_Who? _There was a strange edge to Thorn's voice.

_Me, and her, and…Lane._

Murtagh didn't have to be near Thorn to know the hissing intake of breath he'd make. _Murtagh, remember what Mirren told us? Before she died?_

_About the fire? She said it was…what…'rushing down the path….'_

_And 'roaring down the lane.' _Lane_, Murtagh._

Frozen, Murtagh stared unseeingly at the ceiling as icy realization pounded through his veins.

_Oh my God._

* * *

><p><em><em>TO BE CONTINUED


	24. TEASER: A Thousand Deaths

_The story continues in _A Thousand Deaths:

_Fire is coming. And it threatens to burn everything. It's up to Murtagh to stop it, but in doing so, will he lose the one person as precious to him as Thorn?_

* * *

><p>We can't take chances, <em>growled Garnandr. He'd perched himself on the highest spur of rock he could find.<em> Not with this big a threat.

_Sunset-orange Rarna, curled up to Thorn's left, said serenely,_ There are better ways of dealing with things than killing a stripling Rider and his dragon –

We don't kill dragons! _snarled Anitha – an Eldunari, faded lavender, and thin and wiry as a dried vine._ Not now. Not ever.

But when it is predicted that a Rider, and possibly his dragon, could destroy all of us –

We don't – kill – DRAGONS! _Anitha rounded on Garnandr, glaring at him out of her good eye. He stared haughtily back._

Foretelling isn't proof, _said Thorn._ We don't even have real evidence, this is all based off of _diction._ What happens if you kill Lane and Kadi, and the fire still comes? How will you defend yourselves then?

Bah. _Hakuin, bitter charcoal gray, spoke for the first time._ You are blinded by your Riders' affections.

This has nothing to do with Murtagh,_ growled Thorn. He could feel the urge to hurt, to rage, swelling, tingling in his paws._ This is my decision. And I say no.


End file.
